In a way, John was glad he'd taken Sam's advice and given both him and his oldest son some time to cool off. After all, storming into an argument like a raging bull never did nobody any good. John gave a snort as he saw the door to the boys' room was open. Must have been the fairies.

He knew Dean had probably heard him coming up the stairs, so he was most likely mentally preparing himself for what was to come. Sneaking up on Dean always spooked the kid, and the boy honestly didn't do his best thinking when he was in a panic.

John came to a halt just inside the doorway. The room wasn't very big, especially not after two beds, a dresser and a desk had been crammed inside. Looking around, it always surprised John to find how the boys' personalities translated into their behavior. Sammy's schoolwork was always in top condition, but the rest of his things lay helter-skelter everywhere; Dean was the complete opposite. His side of the room - which was closest to the door - was neat and tidy, leaving enough space for the kid to stand in the corner between the dresser and the wall.

John noted with approval that his boy had followed at least two of his orders today. Dean was standing in the corner in his shirt and skivvies. Not that it didn't still leave him with a pretty dismal overall score.

"Think you'll be able to keep a civilized tongue in your head long enough to have a conversation, boy?"

"Yes, sir," came the rather despondent reply.

"In that case, you can turn around." John folded his arms across his chest and waited for the kid to face him. "When exactly did it become acceptable for you to have temper tantrums and go around banging doors, hm, boy?" John stared down at Dean, his face set in a disapproving frown.

Sonuvabitch! Dean thought in a flight of panic. What in the name of hell was he supposed to do now? Dad didn't look as pissed off as he'd been before, but there in his hand was the wretched wooden spatula, that had left a really mean sting in his butt, even over the pants. Dean really wished he hadn't kicked the door shut with his foot. At least not that loud. His mouth felt dry and he licked his lips, a lump forming in his throat as he glanced up at John, green eyes large with worry.

"I asked you a question." John's growl was deep and predatory, like a wolf seconds before pouncing on his prey.

"I-I'm sorry, sir," Dean said, wishing there was some way to talk himself out of this. "I shouldn't have done that." He really didn't want to screw the pooch any more than he already had. Right now he really wished he could take everything back.

"You've been begging for some quality time across my knee, boy, and that's exactly what you're gonna get!"

Dean nodded he understood and remained quiet, waiting for John's next move.

"You ready to talk to me reasonably first?"

"Yes, sir." Dean didn't really believe that he and his dad would find mutual ground regarding "reason" on this particular matter, but what else was he gonna say? Nobody told John Winchester "no" to his face and lived to tell the tale with any dignity intact.

"Fortunately for you, your brother was a little better at reporting what happened, so I think I've got the basics covered. You know your brother – do you think there's any part that he might have missed?"

Hell yeah, Dean could think of something that Sammy might have missed, but it wasn't gonna save his butt, so why bother? He shook his head. "No, sir."

John gave Dean a much sharper version of the lecture he'd previously given Sammy that left the older boy blushing furiously, unable to do much more than nod. John talked about lying, sneaking, juvenile delinquency and about how he didn't need that kind of police attention. When he told the kid he'd been making fun of his line of work with his little "prank" he looked downright miserable and wouldn't even look up from the floor.

"C'mere." John reached out his hand and as Dean quickly stepped over, John placed his hand on the back of the kid's neck. "Sammy told me that you feel I've been unfair, and I'm sorry things between you and Mrs. D. escalated like this. Next time, you come and you talk to me about stuff like that, so you won't get in trouble for retaliating behind my back. Got it?"

Hot, angry tears had started to well up in his eyes and Dean felt mad at himself for not being able to control them, but knowing what lay in store for him and having had more than enough time to think about it was really gnawing at his nerves. He nodded and repeated, "Got it."

"C'mon, Deano, talk to me. I've never seen you so upset over anything, and I'd really like to understand what's going on up here." John lightly cuffed the back of the kid's head.

"Nothin', sir. Can we please get this over with?"

John ignored the request and pulled the kid closer. "You drag your brother out of the house in the middle of the night, leave a cut-up dead possum on someone's front porch in a ritualistic setting and all that because of – nothing? Come on, kiddo, you know I'm not gonna fall for that. I wanna hear the truth, and I wanna hear it now, are we clear?"

Dean looked anguished, but he still refused to talk.

"Dean," John said warningly, "This is very tedious for both of us. Either you yell at me, or you just clam up – we need to find another way for you to communicate with me, son, 'cause this ain't working. Are you sure there is nothing you have to say for yourself in all this?"

It was as if a wall of stubborn silence was erected all around that kid and there was nothing John could think of that would get through to him. If Dean didn't want to talk, he simply didn't talk. There were no two ways about it.

John couldn't help but feel very disappointed at this. Why wouldn't that stubborn brat talk? He sighed. "Alright then, let's move this along. What happens when you disobey me?"

Dean's tongue darted out again, wetting his lips. "I get punished, sir."

"Uh-huh," John agreed. "And what kind of punishment do you think you deserve for your latest stunt?"

"You'll spank me, sir." Dean tried hard to keep his voice steady, but it wasn't something that was easy to admit and his voice hitched audibly. "And you'll make sure I'm really sorry before you're done."

"Yeah, that sounds about right. And make no mistake, Dean – you deserve it, too! But it's not what I want to do at this moment. What I want is for you to talk to me first. Let's get this sorted out before I give you the punishment you really deserve."

Dean remained stoic. John sighed in resignation. So he moved them both over to the other side of Dean's bed and sat down. "You asked for this, Dean. Bend over. You know the drill."

Dean had resolved to keep his thoughts to himself, as it just didn't seem to make much of a difference when he told his dad what he really thought, not if it was going to break any sort of Winchester commandment. But he was starting to doubt that resolve. For once not opening his mouth was going to get his ass into as much trouble as he normally got for mouthing off. He just couldn't win.

So he prepared for the worst. Dean leant forward across John's lap, resting his hands on the covers. He waited for John to slide his skivvies down before wriggling into position. This bed had an iron frame, and Dean wrapped his fingers tightly around the rails for support.

He couldn't suppress a small shudder that went through his body at the thought of anything connecting with his already sore butt and he tentatively peeked over his shoulder, dreading what he would see. His dad's hands hurt a lot but that spatula hurt even more. What he saw was John examining his butt, which was pretty weird. For a second he thought about asking him to take a picture, as it would last longer, but he wisely kept his trap shut.

Once his Dad's large paw connected with his butt, Dean was glad he hadn't pushed the envelope. The warm-up didn't last nearly as long as Dean had dared to hope, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight in anticipation of what he hoped was the main event. He felt his Dad shift to the side and a moment later the flat surface of the wood lay cold against his hot cheek. Dean groaned.

"Are you ready to talk?" John tried.

Dean stayed silent as he laid his head against the bed to steady himself for more.
John sighed again, the annoyance within him coming to a head. "You want a lecture, Dean? I can give you a lecture. And if you're wise, you won't make me talk to myself. Do you know how many times you have lied to me about this situation with Mrs. Donnelly, Dean?"

Dean swallowed. Continuing the silent treatment was only going to result in his death. "Yes, sir."

"Excuse me?" John said, not quite believing his ears. "Care to explain yourself, boy?"

"Too often, sir?"

John's eyes narrowed. "You're walking a tightrope here, buddy. I'm not in the mood for any more of your cheek. Is that understood?" The spatula twice connected sharply with the fleshy part of Dean's butt and the kid moaned.

"I'm sorry – but there's no right answer to that, sir," Dean cried miserably.

John stopped spanking for a moment. He knew this punishment was far from done, but maybe he didn't have to continue loosening Dean's tongue the hard way. He relaxed his grip on the spatula and ran his other hand soothingly up the kid's back and placed it on his shoulder. "Son, get up and look at me."

Dean hesitated, not quite sure if this was a trick or not. "I mean it, Dean," John assured him. He set aside the spatula and pulled up the boy's boxers, then gently pushed his legs to help him stand, holding on to one wrist just in case this tactic went sideways.

"My point is that I don't want you lying to me, Deano. It's not acceptable. I need to be able to trust you. And you are being disrespectful towards me by not telling me important things because you think you're grown-up enough to handle things on your own. But there's nothing grown-up about sneaking around behind my back in the dead of night. I'm tired of this behaviour, Dean. I am tired of your disrespect, and I'm tired of telling you to watch your mouth. I've given you fair warning, but you didn't listen, so clearly I need to find another way to get through to you. This has been a long time coming, and by the time I'm done with you, I think I won't have to remind you to watch your manners around me for quite some time."

John got it, he really did. Being a teenager sucked. Too many emotions, hormones running wild, wanting to please, needing to rebel - the kid was a mess. But that didn't mean he'd tolerate that kind of behavior in his own house. "OK, so let's finish this."

"Dad!"

"Don't 'Dad' me, Dean. This part didn't have to happen. This spanking is for the disrespect and attitude. Down." He tugged on Dean's wrist to move him back into position. He could see the unshed tears in Dean's eyes, but the boy had to learn there were consequences to all of his poor choices. Baring his ass once again, John adjusted Dean just right, allowing him more access to the kid's thighs. He thought he could hear a miserable whimper coming from his feet. Good, the more miserable the boy felt now, the longer he'd remember. Or so John hoped...

Dean felt incredibly helpless and miserable as John continued the punishment. He honestly felt like he didn't have any butt left back there and that John was now striking bone. Dayum, why did his ass have to be so scrawny? It wasn't like he didn't eat like a horse, but with Dad's strict workout regime... it wasn't nearly enough.

"Dad, please - I swear I've learned my lesson!"

"If you'd learned your lesson, you wouldn't be swearing, now would you?" John asked sardonically, not missing a beat.

Dean closed his eyes and tried really, really hard to stay across his Dad's knee although every fiber of his being was telling him to try to get away. Screw with his dignity intact – Dean was pretty sure he'd lost that quite some yips and teary-eyed apologies ago. But none had helped him one single bit.

Dad was pissed and he brought the spatula down on Dean's sore butt over and over. Until now, Dean had always thought the hairbrush was the worst thing ever invented, but he realized now – face inches away from the floor, backside on fire, legs kicking in the air – that damnit! all this time when Dean had thought his Dad was spanking him really hard with the brush he'd actually been holding back. But the spatula was lighter and had less of an impact, so to speak, so apparently John thought he had to compensate for that with force.

Dean really, really wished his Dad didn't work out so much. It took him a bit to realize the ordeal was finally over - for now - and that his Dad was tugging his clothes back into place. He had said "this spanking," which meant they weren't even done. This made the tears fall even faster.

John easily pulled Dean up and onto his lap. Now John's large bear-like arms felt good wrapped around him, hugging him close to his chest and letting him cry. Once Dean had calmed down enough, John went in for the kill, knowing he'd worn the kid down enough not to have any defense left. "So what did Mrs. D. say that got you so upset with her, hm?"

Dean looked up in surprise, the thought about what would happen next suddenly banished by John's parental clairvoyance. "How did you know?" Dean asked quietly, trying to suppress a hiccup.

"Because you're my boy," John whispered softly. "It's my job to know and I know you. So quit stalling and tell me."

Dean took a deep breath and leaned in to John's shoulder. There was no point in pretending like nothing had happened, but he didn't have to look him in the eye while he said it. He felt like enough of a baby as it was. "She said we wouldn't be so unruly if we had a mom," Dean mumbled into John's flannel shirt front.

John sighed heavily. "So that's what all this is about?" John hugged Dean closer to him. "It's a figure of speech, son. Believe me. There are plenty of families out there with two parents, a house, and a picket fence and their kids are still brats or the parents don't even care."

"She shouldn't have said that. She made it sound like Mom left because she didn't want to be with us." Dean sounded small and hurt.

John gently grabbed Dean's arms to hold him away now. He wanted to look into the boy's eyes. "No. She shouldn't have. But why didn't you tell me, Deano? I could have talked to Mrs. D. and sorted this thing out." Dean just shrugged his shoulders.

"That's not an answer, kiddo. So you didn't tell me because you wanted revenge, and as a result you and your brother are in an awful lot of trouble.

"So we're really not done?" Dean looked up pleadingly at John with his amazingly green eyes and John's resolve almost melted.

"Afraid not, kiddo. I told you. That spanking was for the disrespect and attitude. That didn't need to happen. You forced my hand there. The next one is for the unnecessary act of revenge, the lying, all of it, Dean. For now, I'm gonna put you back in the corner so you can have some time to cool down. Up you get. I'll let you put your jeans back on for now."

Slowly, like he was on his way to the gallows, Dean slid off his Dad's warm lap and headed towards the corner. John handed him his pants, which he carefully pulled on, grimacing as the dense material made contact with his sore thighs and tender butt. These jeans were well-worn. There would be little protection from whatever Dad planned next, but he would be grateful for any mercy Dad showed. After buttoning up, Dean leaned his forehead against the wall and put his hands behind his back.

"Stay put," John ordered sharply as he headed back downstairs

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John needed a caffeine fix, and he needed it now. He really wished this place came with a percolator, but he would have to make do with instant.

"Dad?" asked a small voice from the corner.

John automatically looked over to check on his youngest, but decided to put the kettle on the stove before answering. Once the gas ignited the flame, he walked over to the corner and stood behind his son.

"What's the rule about talking in the corner?" John tried not to growl, but he really needed a break from his kids.

"But, Da-ad," Sammy whined, "I really need to pee."

"Turn around."

Sammy took a deep breath and turned to face his father. The look on John's face was so dark he almost wished he was back looking at the corner, but he didn't dare disobey. Now or ever again. He had to tilt his head all the way back in order to make eye contact.

"Have you thought about why you're here, son?" John cupped the kid's face in his hand and studied him closely. He wasn't exactly mad any more, but talking in the corner was against the rules.

"Yes, Daddy. No more sneaking. Promise." Sammy looked up sincerely.

"Come right back when you're finished. I'm not done with you." Before he had time to blink twice, a small figure had dashed past him, head bent down, fresh tears glinting in his eyes. John sighed. This was a terribly long day.

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John had his coffee and managed to get some juice into a very fidgety Sammy before taking the kid by the hand and leading them both upstairs.

"Dean – front and center," John ordered as soon as all the Winchesters were in the boys' bedroom. John moved Sam to stand next to his brother and the younger kid instantly reached for his brother's hand.

"What you did was immature and disgusting, by the way. I don't care if you had an axe to grind with that woman or not. I don't care if she got you into trouble when it wasn't your fault. This - leaving a dead possum outside her door, lying to me..." John broke off to make his point clear before continuing, "repeatedly, after I gave you ample opportunities to come clean with me, sneaking outside after hours, mocking my work...

"Dad! I didn't mock you! I swear! Or at least I wasn't trying to! Honest!"

"Dean, enough. Meant it or not, this is all on you, both of you. So there'll be consequences. Severe consequences."

Both boys looked contrite and dejected, but readily nodded their heads.

"Dean - for the next month, you have the same bedtime as Sammy. If you can't sleep, feel free to think about what got you sent to bed early in the first place. And - because you clearly don't take my work seriously, even if you think you do, no hunting for you for the next three months. No guns, no crossbow, no questions."

Now that one really hit home. Sammy stared up at John with his large puppy eyes and Dean's shoulders slumped as he nervously started chewing on his lower lip.

"You boys know me well enough by now to know that I don't like to teach the same lesson twice, so I'm gonna make sure that it sticks the first time round. Dean – I told you you had more punishment coming and you've earned yourself a dose of my belt for this. I'll let you keep your jeans for now while we get warmed up, but then you lose them." John watched Dean's face closely. There was the briefest hint of worry that passed by as quick as it came, then it was as if a switch in the boy's head had been flicked and his expression became hard and impossible to read. Dean always tried to hide behind a tough façade when he found himself in trouble and clearly, he was doing that now.

"Samuel –" John grabbed the chair from under the desk and swung it around, placing it at the foot of his bed on the other side of the room. "-you've earned yourself a first-row seat to the show."

Dean hung his head even more now, the tough facade falling away at the realization of what was to come. He silently started to cry as all color seemed to drain from Sam's face. Dean hated, absolutely hated being watched when he was being disciplined. Sammy figured it had something to do with his big-brother-protector image and it felt terrible knowing that he made Dean's punishment worse by just being there.

Sammy looked up at his brother first, squeezing his hand once more for reassurance, then slunk over to the chair and carefully lowered his weight onto the seat. It was as much a punishment for him to have to watch as it was for Dean to be watched. Their dad knew what he was doing.

John beckoned Dean closer, so they were both standing between the beds. In order to give Sam the best view, Dean would have to bend over that side of his bed. Dean glanced over his shoulder nervously and noted that his brother had full view of his butt in this position and he wondered if Dad sometimes sat up at night thinking of ways to make his life as miserable as possible. He felt John apply pressure to his shoulder until he sank to his knees beside the bed and slid his forearms onto the covers. He was at least glad his face was toward the door so at least Sammy wouldn't see his pained expressions.

"You stay put, you hear me?" John said in his no-nonsense tone. Both boys were frozen, listening for the tell-tale chink of the buckle being opened, and the swooshing sound John's belt made as it was pulled from its loops.

"Right, kiddo, you know how this works. Just be glad I let you keep your jeans for starters," John said once he'd doubled the belt over in his hand, securing the buckle end that bit into his palm.

Dean pushed his torso up from the bed, propped himself up on his elbows and turned his head to face his dad. He really didn't want any more, was sure he couldn't take anymore, even through denim, yet his dad was set on giving him more, so what was a boy to do?

"So, Dean, tell me. How many do you think you deserve?" John said as he looked down at the anxious boy.

Dean hated this part. Hated it with a vengeance. At this point, John usually had a number set in his mind and if Dean's answer wasn't spot-on, or at least close, that would only piss him off. But Dean wasn't dumb enough to set the bar too high, either. That damned belt hurt like a bitch! He'd never gotten the belt plus anything before and he honestly thought Dad had driven his point home pretty well with his hand and the double-dose of the hard wooden spatula already.

Dean rubbed at his tears with the back of his hand and tried to get his breathing under control. Man, today sucked!

He tried to think. So, maybe two for the possum, one for telling lies, and one for dragging Sammy into the mess. After all, he had already been soundly spanked for each of those offenses, and he'd never gotten more than three. Since John was behind him, he didn't have the usual advantage of gauging his answer by John's reactions. So he took a deep breath and hoped for the best. "Four, sir," he said, then held his breath as he prayed John would agree.

John took a moment to think about his son's choice and scratched at his scruff. "I was thinking more along the lines of eight."

Well, fuck a duck.

Dean's head fell into his hands. To be honest, that answer came like a blow to the gut. He had expected his dad so say, "Four," because usually he was quite good at judging how mad John was and what punishment to expect for what crime. Sure, John usually aimed a little higher just to, you know, play the dad-card. But eight? That was just plain mean. Dean nodded curtly and swallowed. Then he tucked his hands under his chest and waited.

John frowned. This was unusual. Normally the boys were hell-bent on trying to persuade him to lessen the punishment – it didn't always work, but sometimes they managed to "trade" some other form of punishment for a reduced amount of licks. Or they tried to come up with the best argument as to why they'd learned their lesson, so there really was no reason to enforce it. If the apology was heartfelt enough, that usually sufficed for John. Winchesters were feisty by nature. They didn't just cave in like that.

"Dean, look at me." He'd been willing to hear Dean out, make sure he'd learned his lesson, and he really wasn't expecting this.

Dean turned his head again but otherwise stayed put. His mouth had already gotten him into enough trouble for one day and he just wasn't prepared to cause himself anymore. If Dad wanted to continue yapping, fine, but the conversation would be pretty one-sided from now on. Dean was tired and sore and just wanted it all to be over.

John stepped to the bed and placed a hand on his son's back. The kid unconsciously flinched.

Dean couldn't help it. His body tensed up. He didn't think he'd ever be able to sit again and he wished there was a way he could ask his dad to please, please, please not hit the back of his legs, but with a total of eight licks coming he knew Dad would spread them out evenly, making sure they overlapped and that Dean wouldn't be sitting easily any time soon.

"Just do it. Please," Dean said between clenched teeth, not wanting his Dad to think he was being willfully disrespectful yet again.

The belt first slapped lightly against Dean's scorched behind. He clenched his hands into fists and pressed his forehead against the mattress. Damn! Dad had only been taking aim and that first light tap had almost been enough to make him whimper. The leather connected with the seat of his pants and Dean could hear a loud SNAP, followed by a high-pitched yell. It took him a moment to realize that he knew that voice, and another second before his brain registered it as his own. Both his hands had shot out from under him and he was cupping them protectively over his sit-spots.

"Dean," John said the one syllable warningly.

Dean pressed his hands against his sore butt a few seconds longer trying in vain to keep the pain from emanating off his thoroughly punished butt in hot, angry waves. He slid his hands back under his body and choked out a miserable, "One, sir."

"Keep your hands to yourself or the next one doesn't count."

Dean tried to be good, he really, really did, but when the belt licked across his flaming behind for a second time, even through his clothing, he squealed in dismay and instinctively tried to roll away from the pain. Neither of the Winchesters was too happy about that reaction.

It took John all of two seconds to haul the boy back into position. Dean's right arm, always the more independent limb, shot back and tried to ward off any more attacks. John knew the kid was in pain, but they'd started this and they would have to see it to the end. "Dean. You're thirteen. That means you're old enough to accept your punishment."

John shot a warning look across the room to see what his other little miscreant was up to. "Eyes up front, Samuel," he barked, as he caught the kid trying to hide behind his hands. Sammy took his hands down and wrapped them protectively around himself, tears streaming down his face.

John flipped his wrist so the belt was behind his fist and raised his hand up to his shoulder, bringing the belt down with a loud "swoosh." Dean's reaction was instant - he yelled in pain, and he rolled his hips to try and get away, or at least give his poor butt the chance to recover a little before the next punishing blow hit.

Dean's throat felt as dry as parchment and he was starting to sweat. This whole ordeal really wasn't going well for him at all and he felt sore and helpless and just wanted to crawl away. He didn't think that would sit well with his Dad either, though. His poor butt was on FIRE and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so sore. Dad's strong hands grabbed him and pulled him back in position.

"One more stunt like that, Dean, and we're starting over, is that clear?"

Dean dug his forehead into the mattress, his heart pounding. His butt - especially the right side - hurt worse than he could remember and each time his Dad seemed to hit the exact same spot - how the hell was he supposed to withstand that?

Way before Dean was ready, the belt whistled through the air again, and his right hand involuntarily shot back to try and rub the sting away that instantly pulsed across his backside. Now he almost wished the licks were coming on the bare as it would probably make it easier to nurse the raw skin. The jeans just made it harder and more frustrating to reach the aching places.

"Damnit, Dean - that's it!" John barked. He hated doing this - hated having to be the bad guy and causing his kids pain, but a lesson needed to be taught here. Dean got his wish. "Lose 'em," John demanded. "Both of 'em," he added.

Dean breathed out a hesitant breath as he shakily rose up to lower his jeans and boxers. John couldn't see his face, but he was pretty certain the tears were making it hard for Dean to see and contributing to him moving slowly now.

Finally the boy lowered his pants and boxers and repositioned himself on the bed. This time, John pinned Dean's right hand down behind his back to keep him in place.

"Eyes on the prize, Samuel," John reprimanded as he saw that Sammy was, once again, not doing as he was told. The kid's shaggy head shot up, and he wiped at his tears with his sleeve.

"I don't recall hearing you count more than one, Dean, plus you've been squirming like an eel today. But you will behave yourself from now on, are we clear? I take it you don't want a repeat come bedtime, so you'd better straighten up."

There was no way Dean was going to survive this if he kept going at this rate. He should have been at four by now and that was where Dean had originally hoped to stop, but even at four he would have been right here, struggling to get past one, having wasted three strikes because he couldn't stand the pain any more. No matter what, he was destined to get more and he was going to get these next seven on bare skin. He was going to have to dig deep if he wanted to make it through this - for his and Sammy's sake, who was having as much trouble containing his sniffles as Dean was his squirming.

"Are you ready, Dean?" John asked. He didn't have to grant that moment of mercy, but he knew this would be tough. He needed Dean to learn this lesson for good.

Dean nodded. He could do this. He only needed to concentrate on something other than himself, his arm pinned behind his back, and the pain of the thick leather. He fully turned his ear to Sammy now and willed his brother to calm down. It was going to be alright. As he silently tried to assure his brother, the belt struck again. This time he forced his weight into the bed so he wouldn't move from position. Also, it was a lot harder to move his hips, now that Dad was holding his arm in place, so he was a little grateful he wouldn't get into more trouble for moving. "Two," he whimpered, sniffling a new breath in to prepare for the third. It's ok, Sammy. Don't cry. It's ok, Dean. You can do this.

Three struck with as much force as ever and Dean couldn't help but cry out, but he once again pushed his weight into the bed in an effort to stay still.

"Dean?"

"Three," he said, a hitch in his voice making it hard to speak.

John wanted to be done for all their sakes now. He moved fast to lay down numbers four and five, watching as Dean's shoulders jerked at both, his cries getting louder with each lash. "Four. Five." Dean's voice got smaller as he pressed his head into his one free hand in a rare prayer to he-didn't-know-who for extra strength. His tears had made his hand slippery and he felt like a mess as his cheek rubbed the wet skin.

"Almost done, boy."

John thought it best to rip the Band-aid and quickly laid down the last three strikes as Dean's head rose from the bed, crying out in pain but counting out as he knew he had to. When he reached eight, he dropped his head to his hand again and released the flood of tears that had broken through. John let go of his other hand.

Dean couldn't bear to look at Sam or Dad right now, so he used one hand to pull his pants back up, not bothering to fasten them, climbed up onto his bed, and drew his knees up to his chest as he curled himself into the smallest ball he could facing the wall, turning his back on his Dad, and hopefully away from Sammy's sympathetic eyes.

It wasn't worth it. He and Sammy had paid a dear price for revenge, greater than even he had anticipated and he took no comfort in that now as he flashed back to all the pain his Dad had delivered in that one day alone, at least part of it because of his own stubbornness. It felt like this pain was never going to end and revenge really just wasn't worth it.

"Not feeling like such a tough guy now, eh, Dean?" John sat down on the kid's bed and rubbed a soothing hand along his back. Dean deliberately turned even closer to the wall, clearly communicating that John could get lost with his sympathy.

"You're being a brat, Dean. But you're my brat, so I still love you." With that, John planted a kiss onto the back of his son's head and decided to let him lick his wounds on his own, if that was what he preferred, but he would have really liked to hold his boy in his arms.

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"Alright, Samuel, stand up."

Sammy scampered off the chair and looked up at his Dad looming over him.

"How many times did I have to remind you to do as you're told during Dean's punishment?"

Sam cast his eyes to the floor and he thought his heart was gonna stop when he saw the object dangling from his Dad's right hand. Unable to form a coherent thought he just stared up at John wide-eyed.

"The answer is twice, Samuel, so that means you're getting two with the belt."

"No! I'm sorry, Daddy! I'm sorry! Please don't," Sam cried. The tears were fat and falling freely from his cheeks. He couldn't have imagined Dean's fate would be his as well.

John placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and said, "Big boy crimes call for big boy punishments. Now bend over and hold on tight to the seat of the chair. You already know what happens if you move."

Sam licked his lips, tasting the salt of his tears as he looked over at his cowed brother, still huddled on the bed. Dean hadn't reacted. Sam knew he was too deep in his own pain to even fully realize what was about to happen now to his little brother. He might have offered to take the licks for Sammy if he had noticed, but Sam wouldn't have let him anyway. That thought alone gave him the strength to do what Dean would have done for him.

John placed one of his legs between Sam's and tucked him close with his left hand. Sammy wasn't close to big enough to lean over the back of the chair, but this position would do fine. Sam didn't notice, but John was now holding the belt a lot closer to the middle, so he had less leather to work with but a better aim. That way he could be sure exactly where the belt landed, plus it would of course pack a lot less force, which was appropriate for Sammy's young age. "It's your choice, kiddo - either you take two without kicking up a fuss, or as many as it takes until you've learned your lesson. We clear?"

"Yessir," Sammy whispered, unable to see clearly through the veil of tears. He gripped the edge of the seat tightly and squeezed his eyes shut.

The first lick had him up on the tips of his toes as the sting blossomed to its full burn. He squealed with pain although he knew it hadn't sounded nearly as loud as it had for Dean. Not that that offered much consolation now.

"Uh-huh," John said approvingly as the kid's hands stayed in place. "One more, and we're done. Hold tight." With that, he brought the belt down a second time, right across the center of Sam's slim butt, hoping it would be the last. A split second later he felt pretty much all of Sammy wrap around his leg and thigh.

"No more, Daddy, no more, no more," Sammy begged, trying to get as close to John as he could. John shook his head as he looked down at the kid's antics. Those two swats with the belt couldn't have hurt more than a swat from John's hands - the implement had been used more psychologically than technically.

"No breaking position, Samuel," John spoke softly. "Hands back on the chair, and stop being naughty." Sammy wailed and cried some more. When he realized that he wouldn't get his way, he slowly transferred one hand after the other from John's leg over to the seat of the chair.

"That's better," John was quick to praise. "Now, are you going to be a good boy?"

"Yes, Daddy. But please…" Sammy broke off and pressed his face into John's pants.

"Well, if you're done being naughty, I'm done with the belt. Okay, son?" With that he picked up his baby, sat him on his lap and hugged him until he was all cried out.

OoO oOo OoO oOo

Come dinner time, there was an unnatural occurrence in the Winchester household. John called the boys down, but only Sammy found his way into the kitchen. John gave Sam an expectant look, but Sammy only shrugged his shoulders and looked at Dean's empty spot. John figured one missed meal wouldn't kill the boy, at least not literally, and if he was too stubborn to come down he would just have to go to bed hungry and decide if it was worth it later. The father really wasn't looking forward to sulky teenage years.

At 6:45 PM, John heard a noise from upstairs. Apparently, the beast had awoken. He stood up from the kitchen table, where he had been studying some old books he'd found in the library and went to check on his youngest. Sammy was lying face down on the sofa, his book clearly discarded for now, gaze resting on the black screen of the TV.

"Book no good, champ?" John asked as he sat down and rubbed his hand along the kid's back.

"I don't know," Sammy muttered, rolling half on his side and curling around John. "Guess I just wasn't able to concentrate properly."

"I see," John said as he continued to caress his baby's back. His small body felt warm wrapped around him; little tyke had always been big into hugs. "You worried about your brother?"

Sammy nodded and looked up at him with big, sad eyes. John sighed, "It'll be a new day tomorrow. For now, just try to get some rest, okay? You're brother's upstairs getting ready for bed, so I want you to head up and brush your teeth as soon as he's done, okay?"

"Is it that late already?" Sammy asked, looking puzzled.

"Mhm," John said, patting his head. "It's been a long day for all of us, so how about you don't give me any hassle about bedtime tonight, eh tiger?"

"Uh-huh," Sammy nodded readily. As if he was going to make a fuss today. "Can I have a hug until Dean's done?"

"Sure," John said with a smile as he scooped Sammy up in his arms and hugged him tight. After a couple of minutes, they heard the bathroom door upstairs re-open and John set his baby back on the floor. "Off you go now," he said as he watched Sammy pick up his book and obediently trot upstairs. With a sigh, he rose to get back to his research.

OoO oOo OoO oOo

A few minutes later, John heard Dean clear his throat and he looked up from his book. Kid moved like a ninja – he hadn't even heard him come down.

"You all set for bed, kiddo?" John asked as he put his book down.

"Yes, sir," Dean replied quietly, edging a little closer. The kid didn't look too good. John sighed. "So what can I do for you?"

"Um," Dean said, uncertainly. He cleared his throat and started over. "I'm not sure… if you said I should report back to you before bedtime, or not…"

John stared at him hard. "You mean you still weren't paying attention?"

Dean blushed and ran his hand through his short hair. "No, it's not that, it's just…" he broke off unhappily. "It's not like I didn't want to pay attention," he nervously licked his lips, "but I guess it all just got a bit intense, you know and… I'm sorry, sir."

Well, fuck! Dean thought miserably. Way to impress Dad when you're already up to your ears in trouble, genius!

John stood up and leaned against the kitchen counter and studied his son closely. "I said we'd be having another conversation if you didn't behave. But luckily, you did. So that part's dealt with, okay?"

Dean bit his bottom lip and nodded, clearly relieved that his butt was finally getting a break. "Yes, sir."

"This little feud that you've got going with Mrs Donnelly – it stops right here, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

"And we're going to make that right too, son."

Dean blinked, not knowing what that could possibly mean. But he would have to be in the dark this time. He just couldn't risk any more trouble tonight. "Um, yes, sir. I understand."

"Good. You need to get some rest. So do I."

Dean nodded his "yes, sir," looking as awkward as he felt. "Um, Dad?"

"What is it, Dean?"

"I..I'm really sorry I, um, made you so mad. I swear I didn't mean for it to go this way."

John scoffed. "Of course you didn't, Dean. You wouldn't intend to get in the amount of trouble you did."

"Well, um, no, sir," Dean tried again, trying to get his dad to understand. "I knew I would get in trouble if I got caught…"

"You mean if you both got caught? You and Sammy?"

"Um, yes, him too. I just..didn't mean…"

"I'm sure you didn't, Dean." John sighed, looking down at his book. "Why don't we both just take a minute, huh? You get on up to bed now, ok?" John gave his son a small smile, trying to reassure him that all was not lost.

Without even thinking about it, John held out his arm to offer Dean a hug. In a flash, the teen was at his side, face pressed against his shoulder, soaking up his Dad's scent and physical presence.

The sadness in Dean's eyes touched John more than he'd let his son see right then. It was just going to take some time to set things right again. That was all there was to it. But Dean realized this too as he pulled back, and turned to go upstairs. He was going to have to earn his Dad's trust back and he was going to do whatever it took to make that happen.

NOTE: When we got to the end of this story, we realized we weren't quite where we wanted to be. So stay tuned for the epilogue!