Flagstaff, a supernatural fanfic

Disclaimer – I don't own the show Supernatural.

Author's Note – This story follows that happened when Sam ran away to Flagstaff as described in Season Five's Dark Side of the Moon.

Warning - This is a discipline story. In other words it contains spanking. I would like to politely and respectfully request you refrain from reading if that sort of thing bothers you. That being said if you're not offended by the material, I would love some feedback on the writing. It's my first discipline piece, and it would mean a lot to me to know people enjoyed it. Thanks everyone!

I hate you, Dean.

Sam's coarse words rattled through Dean's ears as he thought through their argument. It had been a heated exchange over something trivial enough it should have never been a point of contention. Sam knew why he couldn't let him leave the motel, Sam knew things were getting dangerous out there, but most importantly, he knew Dad's orders. They both did. Dad specifically said and made them both promise to stay here with the doors salted and locked until he returned.

Orders were orders, plain and simple. This was hunting, there was no room for silly second-guessing, there was no room for rebellion. Preteen angst would be the least of Sammy's concerns when life or death was consistently on the line, and it was a wretched shame Sam couldn't understand that. Dad had to be tough on them for their own safety. Dean understood that thoroughly, but Sam liked to push. He always pushed Dad and whined he longed for a normal, hunting free life.

It broke Dean's heart to listen to. The incessant arguments between their father and Sam drove a sharp stake through his chest and twisted it, but worst of all, he sympathized with his brother. Of course he wanted his brother to have a normal life, the entire universe did, but some things could never be granted, and this was one of them.

I hate you, Dean, his brother's words drove through him again, and he felt his stares from six feet away. Little Sammy sat cross-armed in a chair next to the television, glaring.

Dean glanced to his brother with pleading eyes. Please, Sammy, please understand why I had to say no. God, I want you to go hang out your new friend Trevor as much as you wanted to. Please understand that.

Sam continued to glare but broke eye contact a minute later, and the gesture ripped through Dean and the dreaded four words popped back into his mindset – I hate you, Dean. He knew his brother didn't mean it, but regardless of good intentions, certain words stung. I hate you was one of those unthinkable phrases.

Dean's muscles felt heavy and his eyes tired. It'd been a long afternoon. "Sammy," he spoke softly. "Maybe we should both take a nap." Knowing from experience his brother's moodiness heightened during periods of sleep-deprivation, much like it had when Sam was very young, Dean figured rest might do them both good.

"Okay," Sam mumbled and shuffled to his feet.

"Thanks," Dean thanked his brother, knowing a simple thank you might go a long way in mending the tension. If Dad was gone long this time, they needed to be on good terms again.

Dean watched Sam crawl into the bed beside him. He laid down and rolled to his side, facing opposite of Dean. Dean reminded himself his brother had listened to him and tried to focus on that small act of kindness amidst the boiling frustration. He watched as Sam closed his eyes and waited a few minutes to be sure Sam was truly asleep before he finally laid down himself.

When Dean woke up, Sam was no longer there. "Son of a bitch, Sam," he cursed aloud under his breath, rolling off the bed and onto his feet. Where the hell did you go?

He rapped his fist against the shut bathroom door, assuming, praying Sam was in there, but when he turned the knob, he discovered no one was in the cheap motel bathroom, except perhaps mold organisms, none of whom his brother.

It only took one eye sweep of the rest of the miniscule motel room to know Sammy wasn't there, and he began to search for evidence of where this stubborn young Winchester had fled off to. A half an hour of tearing through their belongings later, he found a note strategically placed under Sam's pillow addressed to him.

Dear Dean,

I can't stand living with you and Dad anymore, especially Dad. I don't want to be a hunter, so I've decided to live on my own. Don't worry. I'll write you often. Maybe you can even visit me when I get a place of my own.

Love your brother,

Sam

Dean immediately crumpled the letter in sheer irritation. Only eleven year old logic could dream that bullshit up. That's right Sammy, just run away, he thought to himself furiously. And how the HELL are you going to know where to mail the letters when we move all the fucking time?Answer me that, genius!

He took a deep breath and attempted to calm himself. Sam was probably blowing off steam somewhere, probably doing this on purpose to get a rise out of him, and he wouldn't be gone for long. No eleven year old with the knowledge he had would stay gone forever. He'd be back. Dean just had to patiently wait it out and pray Dad wouldn't come home before then. Dean shook his head in disgust with himself. No freaking way, you're waiting this out, he resolved. You run after him and find him NOW before he can go too far.

And that's exactly what Dean did. He left the motel room in a burst of determination, and searched the small Nebraska town high and low, stopping at every business, tracking down that Trevor kid. He did everything in his power to find Sammy and bring his bratty behind home, but he only turned up empty handed.

For a whole week, he hardly slept. He knew he was irresponsibly putting off the inevitable task of telling their father, but he'd hoped Sam would get his taste of freedom and turn up before any harm was done. There wasn't much else he could do. Logic told him staying put was best. If he left, he would be gone when Sam returned. God, Sammy, you put me in the worst position ever, he thought. Why can't you just listen to me sometimes?

After much consternation, he knew he could wait no longer. Dad had to know. If he could track down demons and ghosts, he could track down his wayward son, but the thought of admitting to his father he'd let his brother slip away on his watch unnerved Dean horribly.

That night, he sat up until the wee morning hours, thinking about how to tell his father, and then perhaps even more importantly why he'd waited this long to tell him.

He never found an answer. The next morning he was rudely awakened by his father's yelling. "Where the hell is Sam?" John demanded, shaking Dean's shoulders, slicing into him with terrified eyes.

Dean swallowed a hard lump in his throat, realizing he'd fallen asleep before he could reach a workable conclusion. Dad was already here, and Dad was raging mad. "I'm … I'm sorry," he apologized right away. "I thought we should both take a nap, and when I woke up he left me a note saying he was gone."

Dean scurried to his feet and found the note to hand to his father. John took it and read it in a haste.

Dean watched his father's expression shift from terrified to angry fast and gulped. "I thought he was exhausted and a nap would do him good. You know how he gets when he doesn't sleep enough," he tried to explain himself further, but his father's glares sent his stomach into knots.

No matter what excuse he gave, Dean knew he was guilty. He knew he should have watched Sam closer. If he had been thinking, he might have realized Sam would pull a fast one on him given the opportunity. That was just how Sam was, stubborn to the very core. All the Winchesters were.

"Dean, I told you to keep an eye on him. You can't sleep on that job!" John growled, and Dean's eyes slid down to his feet. He knew his father was too blinded by the fact his youngest was gone to see any other logic. Right how he was too upset to register Dean would clearly need his rest too.

"I know, Dad, I know."

"Then how the hell did this happen?" John seethed.

"I … I don't know."

John glared at Dean for a long time and finally started hastily packing up the entire motel room. "Don't just stand there. Pack," John ordered, not a moment later. "We have to find your brother. Hurry, damn it. He couldn't have gone far."

"Yes, Sir," Dean resigned, even though he knew Sam had been gone days.

As Dean gathered up his belongings quickly, he thought of places his brother could be and it hit him. Perhaps it was his father's pressing stares that made him realize so suddenly, but now that he recalled he felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner. Flagstaff. Sam always talked about how he loved Flagstaff when they'd been on a hunt there some years ago. He loved it enough he declared he wanted to live there someday.

His eleven year old brain wouldn't be wise enough to think of a new location. He'd obsessed over Flagstaff to the point Dean ignored his ramblings, but Dean was grateful for Sam's annoying ways now. He knew where they needed to go.

"Dad, I know where Sam is," he said quickly. "Remember how he talked about Flagstaff? I think that's where he probably went."

"He could be anywhere, Dean," John yelled back.

"I know," Dean assured his father. "But trust me on this one."

John clenched his fists in aggravation, but Dean kept eye contact with his father, needing him to believe him. I know this is where Sam is, he pleaded with his Dad internally. Please listen to me. I wouldn't tell you to waste our time there if I didn't know.

John's expression softened as though he was recalling Sam's fascination with Flagstaff himself. "Yeah, okay, we'll start there," he agreed, slinging a duffel bag across his shoulder.

Dean grabbed the rest of what they had in that tiny motel room and followed his father out the door.

You had better fucking be in Flagstaff, Sammy, he raged as they approached the Impala.

The car ride was silent. Dean knew that was bad. His father was too angry to talk to him, and nothing stung more. He could feel the disappointment oozing off his father, and the tension was next to unbearable. At least classic rock music blared out of the radio to drown out his guilty thoughts.

John sped at least twenty miles over the limit, and Dean thought it was a miracle a state trooper hadn't pulled them over. They went from Nebraska all the way to Arizona in record time, only stopping to get gas, nearly driving the engine down to empty a few times.

Dean thought about how apprehensive his father was and wished Sam could see it. If this wasn't proof their father loved them, he didn't know what was, but Sam was stubborn, as stubborn as their old man stubborn. They were two of a kind, those two, and Dean was always in the middle.

When they arrived in Flagstaff several hours later, John stopped at the first cheap motel he could find and got a room. John forwent eating and sat right down to figure out a game plan to find his son.

Dean sat on one of the beds, his arms folded tightly, his eyes glued on the faded pink wall in the musty room. He's here somewhere, he told himself. He had a gut feeling. It was by instinct that he knew Sam was here, and his instincts had never been wrong about his baby brother.

As he sat, his guilt multipled. For a whole week, he did nothing. If he couldn't call his father, he should have at least called Bobby for help. For a whole week, eleven year old Sam was left up to his own devices, and the thought petrified him. Their father left him alone with Sam when he was younger, but Sam wasn't near as responsible. Sam didn't know as much as he knew so young.

Dean glanced at his father and watched as he dialed a number on his phone. He listened as his father explained a blatant lie. He told who Dean presumed were the police that he had misplaced his son on vacation. Dean immediately thought that was stupid. What if they had seen Sam earlier? He could only assume it was a dire, lame attempt to cover up his questionable parenting skills. Dean thought his dad was an alright father, but he knew others would frown on the hunting lifestyle.

The police turned up fifteen minutes later, and they gave a physical description. The entire experience had become surreal to Dean, because he knew just how serious it had become. His father rarely if ever contacted the authorities. Sometimes he'd impersonate an officer to get information from people, this was next to unheard of.

When the police had left, they searched all over Flagstaff themselves, and Dean could sense his father's growing irritation. His father had begun to doubt him, and the small amount of patience would die off soon. Come on, Sammy, I know you're here somewhere, he repeated to himself several times along their frantic journey, but a few hours later, they were back in the motel room and John was cursing up a blue streak.

Dean tried to calm his frantic father and assure him they would find Sam, but John was beyond reasoning. He tried as hard as any dedicated son could, but there was no avail, and just when he thought his father would call quits on the whole Flagstaff operation, they got a phone call.

John didn't let his cell ring twice before he had the phone flipped open and pressed to his ear.

Dean held his breath.

"Thank you so much, Sir," his father sighed, relief flooding his voice and face. "I'll be down to pick him up immediately.

"They found him?" Dean asked hopefully, needing to hear the confirmation once more, as soon as his father had flipped the phone shut.

John pulled his oldest son into a tight hug, something he did very, very rarely. "They did, Dean, they did."

Now that Sam was found, Dean pondered how much trouble they were both in as they drove to the police station. He knew was probably in for a licking, and no doubt Sam was, and even though he should want his little brother to be in trouble for the worry he'd caused him, he worried their father would go too far and drive him away more. He always did with Sam.

"Dad … are we … in trouble?" Dean asked anxiously.

"You, no," his father replied with a sigh. "I think you've punished yourself enough already, but Sam is in hot water most definitely." Dean could hear the frustration in his father's tone.

He nodded slowly, partially relieved. Not getting a licking still wouldn't erase the harsh words he'd endured. For the past several hours, he'd sooner assumed his father had blamed him for the entire incident, but now it was clear it was misplaced worry over his youngest son. He shuddered to think of what that worry might translate to when his dad punished Sam. Their dad was rough around the edges about how he did everything, and he'd only ever spanked one way – pants down with a doubled over belt. For most infractions, they received as many licks as they were old, but in extreme cases, they might receive double the number, and Dean's stomach flipped to think about his brother potentially receiving twenty-two licks.

"Dad, I think I should punish Sam," he spoke up, much to his father's shock.

"No, Dean," John refused immediately. "I know I've given you permission to punish him when I'm away, but this is different. I'm his father. It's my responsibility."

His father's tone was stern. Dean almost dropped the issue, but in blast of courage, he found himself arguing. "I know, but he was my responsibility, and I blew it. I think I should take responsibility for my actions. It happened on my watch."

John grumbled, and Dean sensed he might lose the argument, but he gave it one more go. "Sam needs to know he can't pull something like this on me again," he pushed, hoping to appeal to his father's senses with a logical rebuttal. "I think it would mean more if it came from me." He believed every word of his final statement wholeheartedly. He had a way with his brother his father didn't. Sam looked up to him, and though he hated the thought of punishing him, he sensed perhaps he could get through to Sam in a way their father couldn't. Besides, he knew his father was harsh with his discipline. He might be able to endure that many licks with a belt, but Sam was sensitive – it'd just push him away more.

John's eyes narrowed, and Dean shut his in defeat, praying his father had planned on leniency, but then much to his surprise, his father agreed with him. "Okay," he said quietly. "Yeah, I think you're right... He needs to know you're in charge when I'm gone."

Dean tried to hide his shock. He triumphed in his victory for a moment, until he realized what exactly he had agreed to do.

He'd never given his brother a real spanking, only a few half-assed attempts at one, but this would have to be the real deal, firm enough to get his attention and hold it for quite some time to come.

When they got to the police station, Sam sat on a bench. He looked dirty like he hadn't showered all week, but it was him. It was Sam. His shoulders slumped dejectedly and he guiltily glanced away from his father and brother, but it was Sam.

"Don't you ever do this to us again, you hear me," John said firmly, pulling his son into a suffocatingly tight hug. "God, I was so worried. You have no idea how worried I was."

A few moments later, he released Sam and thanked the officers profusely. He slung his arm around Sam's shoulder and led him outside. Dean trailed not far behind, and once they'd reached the Impala, he scooted into the backseat with his brother. He knew he could've sat upfront as he usually did, but this was the first time he'd seen his brother all week.

"Sam," he spoke, trying to find a way to encompass all his feelings over the past week in one statement. "I will end you if you ever do that to me again," he finished, resorting to a threat he loved to say as a younger child. I love you was too mushy.

Sam fiddled around his backpack and pulled out a post card. "I wanted to send you this," he said, handing it over.

Dean looked at it for a moment and couldn't help but grin. "You went to Six Flags?" he asked.

Sam nodded.

"Jesus, kid," Dean breathed. "You've been all over."

Sam smiled sheepishly. "I wish you could've been with me."

Dean heard a grunt from the driver's seat and knew their father was seething from Sam's enjoyment over his wayward adventure. Sam must've sensed the irritation too for he dared to ask, "Am I in trouble?"

"We'll talk about that when we get to the motel room," John answered, keeping his eyes focused on the road.

Sam gulped and gave Dean an uneasy look.

"You brought it on yourself," Dean whispered to him, secretly hoping their father hadn't forgotten about the agreement.

Dean sat on the bed and listened as their father lectured Sam about how dangerous his running away had been. It was a long-winded rant, and Dean guessed their father was having trouble handing over the reigns to discipline Sam. It was probably out of pure worry Dean may not do a good enough job.

Dean himself was worried.

"Alright, Sam, Dean would like to have a little chat with you too," John explained when he was done, and Dean knew that was his cue. He had to be firm now.

Sam sighed loudly.

"Hey now," John chided him. "No complaining. You did this on his watch, buddy. What do I always tell to do when I leave?"

"Listen to Dean," Sam said quietly.

"That's right." John inched towards the door, car keys in his hands. "I'll be back soon."

He gave Dean a small nod and shut the door.

Dean sighed to himself, relieved there would be privacy, but now with his father gone, he felt lost. Why had he agreed to do this again? He was only fifteen.

"Dean?"

He couldn't stall any longer. "Sam, come here." He motioned for his brother.

"Can't we just talk from where I am now?" Sam asked.

"Sam," Dean warned. "Come on." When Sam remained still, Dean shot him a look that read you better freaking cooperate with me.

Sam shuffled his feet until he was standing in front of his brother. Dean took his hands in his and looked him straight in the eye. "Sammy, you scared the living shit out of me when you left."

"I know," Sam glanced away for a moment. "But Dean, I just needed a break, you know?"

"No," Dean said firmly. "I don't. I still don't understand how that could possess you to worry me for a whole damn week. I mean, I get it. Dad drives you crazy, but I thought we were good."

"It's not you, it's Dad," Sam said.

"Dad wasn't even here when you left." Dean reached out and tilted his brother's chin back so their eyes met once again. "Sam, I don't care what your excuse is, you can't take off like that! It's dangerous. Did you not hear Dad's lecture?"

Dean peered into his brother's eyes and noticed tears forming. "He was yelling a lot so I just kept agreeing with him," he admitted softly.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," Dean sighed. "What am I gonna do with you? Dad just worries, you know. He loves us an awful lot. He's just too macho to admit it."

Sam shrugged, and Dean saw red. "Don't doubt that for a second, okay?" Dean said harshly. "I had to deal with him while he was going off the deep end, giving himself ulcers over how worried he was. Christ, Sam, he blamed me."

"He did?" Sam looked horrified.

Dean nodded firmly. "You bet your sorry ass he did."

"I'm sorry," Sam eeked out, the tears starting to fall. "I didn't know he would do that."

Dean almost lost the heart to punish his brother at that moment, but he knew it needed to happen. "I know, Sammy, I know," he said softly. "What do you say we get this punishment over with?"

"Dad didn't say you would punish me," Sam retorted.

Dean lifted an eyebrow. "I think you and I both know "little chat" was his code word for it."

Sam titled his head down and stared at the floor. "Okay," he gave in. "Same way Dad does it?" He gave Dean an uneasy stare.

Dean shook his head firmly. "No," he assured Sam.

Sam had a puzzled look across his face. "Then how?"

"Across my lap with my hand," Dean explained, and he would stand firm on this decision. Laying Sam across his lap seemed less cold than the way their father made them lay across bed or table. He wasn't sure how much more effective having his brother across his lap would make a spanking, but that seemed to be the age old way to do it according to the movies and TV. If a child was spanked, it was across their parent's knee.

Sam gave Dean a look that said he wondered if his brother was joking. "But that's little kiddish!" he protested.

Dean thought his brother might say that, and honestly he agreed. It did seem childish, but it was better than the alternative, and his brother wasn't getting out of a punishment after what he'd pulled.

Sam stood awkwardly for a moment, and Dean figured his brother might need further instruction. "You want me to explain how this is gonna work?"

Sam nodded weakly.

"All right," Dean began. "It's really simple, Sam. All you have to do is pull down your jeans and lay across my lap. You got the easy part here. I have to actually do the spanking." He winked, hoping the sense of humor would help his brother, but Sam still stared at him with the same expression.

"Look, Sam, I know it's different, but just trust me, okay?"

Sam mumbled an affirmative response and fumbled with his jean button. "Can't you just spank me on these?" he asked. "This is embarrassing."

"Hey, I'm not out to embarrass you," Dean assured him. "I'd give you a bare bottom spanking if I wanted to embarrass you."

Sam blushed at the thought of that.

"Just get your jeans down," Dean said impatiently, wanting to get the punishment over with as soon as possible.

Sam finally unzipped the fly and let them fall to his ankles. He stepped out of them and stood in front of Dean, chewing on his bottom lip.

"Come on," Dean prompted him. When Sam remained where he was, Dean held his hand out.

Sam anxiously took it and allowed his brother to pull him closer. Dean guided him to his side, placed a hand in the middle of Sam's back, and gently pushed until Sam gave in to being tipped across his knees.

Dean brought his hand down with no preamble, landing swats on each side of Sam's bottom. He swung hard but not too hard, knowing anything wimpy might sting his brother's pride. They were used to the sting of a belt. A hand must've paled in comparison, but judging by Sam's reaction, it still hurt.

"Sam, why am I spanking you?" Dean asked, pausing the swats for a moment. He realized he should have asked the question sooner if he was going to ask, but better late than never, he figured. He wanted his brother to know why he was punishing him.

"I don't wanna say," Sam said.

"Too bad," Dean told him, punctuating his words with a swat. "Why am I spanking you?"

"Because … I … I ran away," Sam stammered.

"And?"

"And that's it?"

"That's far from it, Sam," Dean said sternly. "It isn't just that you ran away. It's that I spent a whole week worried about you. You mean a lot to me Sam, and I want you to remember that next time you think of taking off like that. I want you to think about what it's doing to the people who care about you, you understand me?"

Sam nodded into the bedspread.

Dean began landing swats again, focusing on the lower half of Sam's bottom, slowly picking up the pace to a full swing again. He didn't keep it up long, just long enough to make an impression. It didn't have to be long. Being the first real spanking Sam ever received from him, the first alone would go a long way.

"It's over," he told his brother.

Sam slid himself off Dean's knees and sniffled. He was holding back a wall of tears, and Dean couldn't stand that. "You can cry, Sammy," he said.

Sam shook his head, but just the words alone had made the tears explode. "I can't," he wailed, in spite of the falling tears. "I can't. I can't."

Dean held his arms out and Sam walked into them hesitantly. "You can cry, little brother," he assured him once more.

Dean didn't want his brother to be strong, not this time. Sam needed to let out his emotions.

"I'll only make fun of you a little," he teased, but Sam knew he was joking.

He gathered his brother up in his arms. One day his brother would be big, maybe even taller than him, and he'd no longer be able to do this, but for now he wanted Sam to feel safe enough he'd never consider running away again.

"Dean?" Sam spoke softly, pressed against his brother's chest. "I don't hate you. I'm sorry I ever said that."

Dean's eyes grew wide for a second. Amidst all his worrying, he'd forgotten all about that petty fight. "I know you never did," Dean said. "And me? Well, I only hate you sometimes." He couldn't resist the urge to tease again, to lighten the mood after he had to be such a hardass.

Sam smiled. His tears had slowed and his breathing had returned to a normal, even pace.

Before their father could even return, they had both tired out. Dean laid Sam down and laid beside him.

He listened to the sounds of his brother's slowed breathing and knew Sam wouldn't leave once he'd fallen asleep this time.

And for the first time in days, Dean slept soudly.