Title: Lesson Learned
Characters: John and Dean Winchester
Rating: Gen, PG13. Parental spanking of a minor. Please don't read if this is offensive to you
Summary: Dean get's high and Dad finds out.
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Dean felt something twist in the pit of his belly; a combination of worry, shame and a healthy dose of fear.
Dad was furious.
Dean stood as close to attention as possible, not daring to meet Dad's eyes. He stared straight ahead, spine ramrod straight. Well, he hoped he looked ramrod straight anyway. Inside he was quaking. Dad wasn't yelling, he was talking. Low and quiet- growling might be a better word. Dean couldn't even focus on the lecture. Just bits and pieces.
Irresponsible.
Unacceptable.
Harebrained.
Dean glanced briefly at Dad for harebrained. Dean quirked an eyebrow and allowed his head to drop a bit. He wanted to offer a grin but he did not think that was in his best interest. Seeing as Dad was on a roll and all.
Shit for brains.
That was Bobby chiming in. Jesus, Bobby; can't a kid get reamed out in private here.
Apparently not, because Bobby didn't move and Dad just kept right on pacing in front of Dean while Bobby stood up against the door jam, hands across his chest and exhibiting the Bobby Singer version of the John Winchester scowl.
That worried Dean a bit, because Uncle Bobby tended to be the easier going to the two. Then again that wasn't saying much, Attila the Hun could have taken anger lessons from John Winchester.
Dean tried to focus on the lecture but really, it was hard. Because harebrained? That was really kind of goofy if you thought about it. He stifled a giggle. Not quite fast enough though.
Dad stopped in mid tirade. "You think this is funny, Dean?"
"No, sir. " Short and sweet. Dean was going to leave it at that.
Really.
But then a second later, Dean just naturally had to open his mouth. "It's just…I dunno." The sinking feeling in his stomach was still here and there was a little warning voice yapping away somewhere in the distance but for some reason his over all thought process was just not engaged. At all. "It was a little funny." He looked at his dad with what he hoped was an endearing smile.
"In what sense of the word, Dean? Is there something about this entire situation that you find amusing? Something that tickles your funny bone? Because I would really like to know." Dad halted his pacing and stood directly in front of Dean, nose a mere inch from Dean's own.
That pretty much stopped the giggles. Like a car hitting a brick wall.
Dean just plain couldn't think anymore. Having Dad in his personal space like that was scary. He wanted to back the fuck up, put a little distance between himself and the man who wrote the book on intimidation. But backing up was not acceptable military protocol. When Dad went all Marine on someone, it was best to fall back on the tried and true. Dad expected Dean to man up about it, take his licks or in this case, at least answer the question. Dean did just that. He squared his shoulders and tried to think why it was funny. Because it really had seemed funny a second ago, but that line of reasoning was now out of reach. He struggled to find it, but came up empty-handed.
"I got nothin', Dad." He admitted.
"Nothin' between your ears, s'more likely." That was Bobby again. Dean pulled his eyes away from his father and offered a furtive glance toward the other hunter.
"Bobby, m'tryin' here."
"Ain't sayin' much."
This time Dad turned to look at Bobby with an expression between exasperated and pissed.
"It happened on my watch, John. I want a piece of his ass too." Bobby nodded in Dean's direction and pinned a dark look at the boy.
"His ass," growled John, "is all mine."
That, Dean didn't find funny at all. "Dad, Uncle Bobby, I'm still in the room y'know."
Both men rounded on Dean. "Shut up, Dean!"
Jesus, now they were talking in stereo!
Dean shut up.
"Can you tell me, Dean what the hell possessed you to smoke weed? And to be stupid enough to do it in the woods near Bobby's house?
"I dunno, just messin' around, I guess." Dean shrugged in the wordless manner of teenagers everywhere, "The woods were as good as place as any. I figured you would not be back until tomorrow and Sammy and Bobby were in town so…"
"So there was sneakiness and subterfuge involved as well."
Dean offered Dad a look that said of course there was sneakiness and subterfuge – he'd been breaking at least 10 big rules in the Winchester Rule Book. That kind of misdeed involved sneakiness and subterfuge of the highest order. He didn't say that though, his brain was muddled to be sure, but there was still a few neurons firing.
"Where did you get this stuff, Dean? Did someone around here sell it to you? Give it to you?"
Bobby interjected. "Believe me, kid, if someone around here gave it to you I want to know. Ain't nobody bringin' shit into my neck of the woods without hearin' about it from me. I don't hold with sellin' drugs to kids."
"The only person you can get mad at is me, Bobby." Dean's eyes tracked Bobby from across the room. He glanced at his dad and swallowed nervously. "No…not here. Nobody from here. It was in Little Rock."
"Little Rock!" John's voice raised a notch. The lightening flashed in his eyes. "That was two months ago. Are you tellin' me you've been carrying this shit around for two months? What if you got caught? That is all we need to have some cop catch you with a few ounces of Columbia Gold in your pocket."
Dean snorted loudly, who called it Columbian Gold anymore? He chuckled low and then added conspiratorially, "Dad, you've got to be kiddin' me. We have enough of an arsenal in the trunk to take on a small army and your are worrying about me getting caught with a bag of weed?"
It turned out that smoking weed left Dean kind of stupid. Really stupid. Because backchat was never tolerated and what he just said? So not smart. Dad's eyes narrowed and that was never a good indicator. His voice got quieter, angrier if that was possible. It rumbled low and menacing though the tiny kitchen.
"Have you ever heard of acceptable risks, Dean? The trunk is an acceptable risk. A necessary risk. You fuckin' around with weed? Nothin' acceptable about that."
Dean risked a look at Bobby but from the man's expression, Dean would be getting no help from him.
Unfortunately, Dean just couldn't back away from the stupid. He just couldn't get his dumb ass mouth to shut up! "C'mon Dad; you fought in Vietnam! Don't tell me you never smoked a little."
"I spent my time in country trying to stay alive." Dad circled behind Dean, his voice husky and etched with emotion. Dean kept his eyes front and center, tracking his father by following the sound of voice. "And what I did or didn't do had nothing to do with this." Dad continued low and dangerous as he moved back to the front of Dean. "Getting high is risky and stupid. Your reaction time is slower. You can't think clearly. Shit, Dean, what if something had been out there? Is it worth a few minutes of feelin' good when you could wind up dead?"
That sounded like one of those questions that Dad asked but really did not want you to answer. Dean did kind of see the rationale though, because the way his mouth was running, clear thinking was obviously not happening and death? Well from the look on his father's face, it was imminent.
"What about your brother, Dean? What kind of example are you setting for him?"
That was kind of a low blow, but it was expected. Dad would always s pull the Sammy card if he thought it would work.
"Sam was with Bobby, Dad. You weren't home. I didn't think…"
"Exactly, Dean. You didn't think. Lets' see if I can find a way to help you remember to think. Especially when I'm not here to personally remind you." With that John unbuckled his belt and pulled it through the belt hoops quickly.
Dean's eyes widened. He looked at Bobby standing in the door jam, and lowered his voice, "Ah, Dad…don't ya think that I'm too old for that? I'm sixteen for chrisake. And the belt? Jeeze, Dad. The last time you licked me with that was when I took the Impala without permission."
He continued speaking in the same tone of voice. "And without a license if I remember correctly. What was the reason for that move, Dean? Something about impressing that little girl from Virginia, I believe.
Dean, quick question? Have you ever done that again?"
"No, sir…no way. Never again. I so don't want to go through that ass whipping one more time." He shook his head emphatically.
John gave Dean a wry grin, and suddenly it occurred to Dean that maybe that might not have been the best overall answer to give.
"But you know, Dad, I'm older and wiser now; can't we talk about this? You can ground me if you want. Make me run laps or whatever. But beatin' my ass? What kind of person goes around whackin' his kids? That's archaic – there are books written on the subject. I know, Sam researched it."
"Maybe. But I don't care. Drop 'em, Dean. Jeans and shorts."
"Dad. Gimme a beak. I mean…" He looked at Bobby hopefully. "I mean Bobby is standin' right here in the kitchen. And Sam? Sam is upstairs sleepin' and…"
John obviously had no problem what so ever with Bobby being in the room.
"Bobby has seen your ass before, and if Sam is sleepin' now, he won't be by the time I get a few licks in. I seem to remember quite a bit of yellin' after the Impala incident."
Dean shook his head back and forth, as close to an outright no as he ever dared give.
"NOW, DEAN!" John roared, the dam broken.
Dean hastily unbuttoned and unzipped, pushing his jeans down to the ground. He leaned over the counter, presenting his underwear-clad bottom before shucking his boxers as well.
Dad wasted no time; he brought the belt down quickly. Dean yelped at the first swat and jumped into the counter banging his hip hard. A moment later Dad was striping Dean's ass with every lick.
"I got it. I got it, Dad. No smokin' weed. Ever."
Dad paused a second. "Well, this is as least as serious as stealin' my car so I think the lickin' needs to be at least as hard."
Dean groaned a little low in his throat because that fuckin' Impala ass-whippin' had left him sleeping on his belly for days.
Smack after smack rained down on Dean's ass. Dad was right; it didn't take long for Dean to yell. Unless you'd ever been on the receiving end of a John Winchester "what for", then you really had no room to comment or criticize on the volume of the whackee.
It was over fast too, Dad didn't believe in drawing ass beatings out. But it was not fast enough for Dean who was panting with his head resting on his arms; tears trailing wetly down his suntanned arm. He was sobbing really and that was a sad state of affairs for a sixteen year-old to come to terms with.
Dean took a deep, halting breath and reached down to pull up his boxers. He whimpered a bit as the soft cotton touched his blistered ass. His jeans were still puddled around his ankles but it didn't seem to matter much at the moment when the tears kept coming.
"M' sorry, Dad. I'm really sorry." Dean sniffed hard, pulled the bottom of his shirt up to wipe a trail of snot and tears from his face.
John took a deep breath too. Sniffed a little himself as he carefully threaded the wide leather belt back through his belt hoops. He cinched it up tight against his lower belly.
Dean reached down again and gingerly pulled up his jeans, leaving them unsnapped and unzippered, hanging loosely on his lean hips. He glanced over at his dad and John nodded in Bobby's direction. Dean looked at Bobby, face flushed from crying. "I'm sorry, Uncle Bobby. It was dumb and stupid. " Dean eyed Bobby carefully. "You said you wanted a piece of my ass too, Bobby. You better have at it before I change my mind."
Bobby's eyes softened at the teenager's invitation. "Nah, kid. Your ol'man did I bang up job there. I'm guessin' it'll do." Bobby's voice darkened momentarily. "If you ever, ever, as long as you live, smoke that shit on my place again, I will personally kick your ass into next week. Not a threat boy; that's a promise."
"Yes, sir."
With that Bobby turned and walked out of the kitchen, leave the two Winchesters to talk.
John reached over to Dean, half-expecting the boy to duck away. Dean had just received a first rate ass-kickin' and it would be understandable. But the kid allowed John's arm to loop around his shoulders and pull him close. Dean's breath hitched as he buried his head into his father's shoulder.
John rested his chin on Dean's head and whispered low. "Don't make me do that again, son."
Dean felt like he should be angry or something, but all he really wanted to do was to rest quietly in the lee of his father's arms and try his best not to think of his well swatted ass. "Believe me, Dad. I don't want you doin' it again." There was a soft hiccup in his voice but also conviction. "This is so not happenin' again."
"Good, my job here is done."
Dean allowed himself to be held a moment more, and then pulled back as his Dad released him. He eyed his father without a trace of resentment. "Did I almost convince you to - y'know, -not go though with it? I though you might be impressed with that line about spankings being archaic and everything.
Dad grinned. "Nope. Guess I'm just an archaic kind of dad."
Dean smiled back slowly. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Okay, Dean. Hit the rack. Pick up your brother on the way upstairs – he's on the third step down, trying
his best to hear what we're sayin'."
"Yes, sir. Dean started out of the kitchen, paused at the doorway. "Hey, Dad?"
"Yeah, son."
"Did you ever-y'know…get high?"
John dropped his head. He looked back up and met Dean's eyes, then offered a slow grin, "Let's put it this way, Dean; me and my dad had the same conversation you and I just had when I was about your age. That answers your earlier question too. I didn't get high in the war, didn't get high after. I don't care how old you are, when your old man whacks the shit out of you, you remember. You do your best to not have it happen again."
"Yeah, I get what you're sayin'." Dean smiled ruefully, "G'night, Dad."
"Night, son."
Dean moved up the steps, grabbed Sam three steps from the top of the steps and headed onto bed
end