Dean's head pounded, every part of his body ached despite being on what felt like his bed. He groaned and rolled over and then his stomach decided to speak up. Dean struggled to get out of the blankets so he could make it to the bathroom but his stomach wasn't going to wait, he leaned over the bed and vomited into a bucket that appeared.

Rolling back onto his back Dean saw the faint outline of someone in the darkroom.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean slurred as a cool cloth wiped his face and a glass of water was pressed to his lips. He took slow steady sips before falling back to his pillow and falling asleep again.

It was another couple of hours before Dean woke up to his stomach protesting again.

"Sam, I'm gonna hurl," he muttered before running for the bathroom, this time making it. A comforting hand rubbed his back as he retched and another glass of water pressed to his lips when he finally got his face out of the bowl.

He gulped the water at first until he heard a command that told him to take small sips, Dean looked up at the voice. It wasn't Sam, it was his dad.

"Oh shit," he muttered.

"Mmm," John agreed, "common up you get, back to bed." John helped Dean stand up and walked him back to his bed. John gave Dean a couple of pills and some Gatorade then Dean laid back as John pulled the blanket up over him.

"Dad? Aren't you going to kick my ass?" Dean asked, his voice wavering a little.

"Oh we'll have a thorough discussion with my belt, but not right now. Go to sleep." John turned out the light and left.

Dean buried his face in the pillow, he was not looking forward to the inevitable but somehow felt calmer knowing what was going to happen rather than the big question of what might be in store for him.

Dean felt gross. He blinked his eyes open and groaned, everything still hurt but he mostly just smelled and felt icky but the bathroom seemed so far away that he just lay in bed. A few minutes later John peeked in.

"You're awake," he stated simply.

Dean nodded.

"Alright let's get you cleaned up. Let's go," John easily pulled his son up and helped him back to the bathroom where he sat him on the toilet seat and began to run a bath. Dean was still a little too out of it to do much other than stare. John helped his son strip down and get in the tub.
"I'll be right back just going to strip your bed," John said and slipped out of the room while Dean leaned back in the tub. He let the warm water wash over him and pull all the aches out of his body. He couldn't remember the last time John had ever run a bath for him, let alone helped him the day after he had too much to drink. After a few minutes John returned, he sat on the edge of the tub and squirted a bit of shampoo in his palm before starting to wash his son's hair.

"You probably don't remember this, but I used to give you your baths every night. Your mom never really liked doing it. You had this little blue boat that you just loved," John said remembering the long-ago memory.

Dean just looked up at his dad, "I don't remember you ever giving me a bath," he looked down at his long skinny legs not quite fitting in the tub, "and I think I'm a bit old for it now, even at my… reduced age."

John nodded, "you're probably right, but I don't trust you not to fall over in the shower at the moment and you smell terrible. Close your eyes," John poured water over his son's head to get the soap out then helped Dean up and into some fresh boxers and white t-shirt before putting him back to bed. Dean melted into the clean sheets and pillow.

John smiled down at his oldest son letting his hand comb through the short hair. He didn't like what he was going to have to do later, but for now, he just savored the moment as Dean slept peacefully, looking even younger than his 14-year-old body portrayed.

The cell phone on Dean's nightstand began to buzz, John glanced at it "Bitch" flashed in the caller ID. John smirked to himself before picking up the phone.

"Sam, its dad," John said, answering the phone as he walked out of the room, "Dean's taking a nap."

"A nap? It's almost 11 am. Is he ok? You didn't kick his ass again did you?" Sam's mind raced with questions.

"Will you shut up for a minute and let me explain," John interrupted.

"Yes, sir."
"Good. He's fine. He got into the whiskey last night, had more than his body could handle and I found him passed out in the library so I put him to bed and am helping him through the hangover - I don't think he's still drunk anyway. And no I didn't kick his ass… yet. He's going to get one hell of a hiding once he's better though."

Sam didn't respond.

"Sam, What did you need?"

"Well I..., I wanted to check in with him, I've gotten at least a dozen emails from his teachers in the last week about him not turning in his homework and skipping classes, or falling asleep in class. And his grades are falling because of it," Sam explained.

John didn't reply for a moment, "I've been trying to get on the school parent portal to check his grades, can you talk me through it, I can't figure it all out."

Sam explained how to create a parent account and log in. John frowned as he read through the notes and grades.

"Dad. What is going on over there? When I left things were fine, now Dean's getting drunk and failing school."

"Watch your tone, Sam," John snapped, he didn't like the implications that he wasn't handling things well despite the evidence. "I wake him up, make him do some training in the morning, and send him to school. Then I sleep for a few hours before heading over to Joe's auto for the evening shift."
"You're making him train first thing in the morning?!" Sam said in disbelief.

"I always did with you boys, you know that."

"Is he getting enough sleep?"
"Sam, he's 36 years old I shouldn't have to give him a bedtime."
"You shouldn't have to give him a hiding because he drank too much either! He's more 14 than 36 at this point. He needs to be in bed by 10 at the latest if he's going to be up at 6 for school. I had him train after school. It worked out better for him than the first thing in the morning. He won't do his homework on his own, he gets frustrated and gives up. And I bet he hasn't touched a vegetable since I left," Sam spit out everything so fast John needed a minute to catch up to what he was being told.

"You don't have to tell me how to raise a teenager, I raised two of you," John said defensively.

"Dad, don't take this the wrong way, but Dean raised me. And Dean, well he never really grew up, did he."

John was silent for a long time, Sam was worried he'd hung up or left to kill Dean in his sleep. Finally, he whispered, "You're telling me my 36-year-old grown son can't make himself dinner and put himself to bed?"

"Yes!" Sam said, unsure if he was relieved that his dad finally got it or frustrated that it even had to be explained.

A noise on the far side of the room made John glance up, Dean had woken up and had shuffled into the library.
"He's awake, I'll have him call you later so you know I didn't kill him," John tells Sam before hanging up.

"Son, you hungry?" John asked the disheveled boy standing in the doorway. Dean rubbed his eyes and yawned before nodding his head, his eyes were still glazed over

"Dat Sammy?" Dean mumbled.

"You can call him later. Let's get you something to eat."

Dean sat at the table in a zombie-like state as John made some toast and scrambled up some eggs.

"You never made me food before," Dean said after a bit.

John nodded, "there's a lot I should have done but didn't," he said as he set the plate in front of his son.

Dean slowly ate the food in front of him, he was feeling a lot better now and the food helped settle the remaining queasiness. John had given him another bottle of Gatorade as well, by the time he had finished he was awake and alert but kept his head down and avoided making eye contact with John.

"Son, we need to talk about some things," John started.

"Yes, sir," Dean whispered, sneaking a quick glance up before focusing on the table again.

"You had to know what would happen if you drank like that, but you did it anyway, why?"

Dean shrugged. John waited quietly, eventually, Dean took a shaky breath, "I don't know. I guess I was feeling a little lonely and missed Sam. I wasn't really thinking that I'd pass out like that."

"We had this discussion not long ago, and I know you and Sam did too."
Dean nodded, "I'm sorry."

"I also had a chat with Sam earlier. It seems as if you've stopped doing your homework and are skipping classes. Mind explaining that?"

"Uh," Dean didn't realize they knew about that and it caught him off guard, "I don't understand the homework and I was so tired I skipped to take a nap."

"Didn't Sam give you a 10 pm bedtime? Why are you tired?"

"The training in the morning just makes me more tired."
"Have you been up playing video games or TV?"

Dean mumbled his answer.

"I didn't catch that, try again."

"I said, yes, sir."

John pressed his lips together as he looked down at his son. Dean kept his eyes down, glancing up only once briefly before locking them back down to the table.

"Some of that is my fault, I see that now. I was treating you like a 36-year old that should be able to put themselves to bed on time and get done what they need to.."
"I AM 36," Dean interrupted.

John considered him carefully, "Be honest with yourself right now, Dean, do you really feel 36 anymore?"

Dean glared at his dad at being called out, the truth was he didn't, he felt small, scared, and very much the 14-year-old his body told him he was, reluctantly he shook his head.

"I didn't think so."

"I know I wasn't really there for you much when you were younger, and I should have been," John started but Dean interrupted again

"You did your best!"

"It wasn't good enough. And this is my chance to make it right. So here's what's going to happen. I'm going to see about switching my shift to the day shift so I can be here in the evening. You're going to get up, go to school and go to each of your classes. Then you're going to run home, its about 5 miles,"

Dean groaned but shut up quickly at the look from his father.
"That's a run, boy, not a walk. I know your pace. Then you can shower, and start your homework. I should be home soon after that and we'll fix something for dinner and you're going to bed at 9."

"9! Dad, come on, I'm not a toddler. Even Sam said 10."

"Enough. I'm saying 9, you obviously need the sleep."

Dean pouted but wisely kept quiet, he knew he was in enough trouble already.

"Now, let's go take care of this little issue of you thinking whiskey is an acceptable drink choice."

Dean soon found himself staring at the couch cushions and his ass in the air. John only gave him one direction, "keep those feet spread and your ass out or this is going to take even longer" so Dean tried his best to maintain that position as his dad whipped his bare butt with the belt. There were spankings that went fast. Over within a few minutes. This was not one of them. John would give him several quickly in a row that made Dean jump about, then a few moments to catch his breath before a few hard smacks spread apart. He varied the placement, Speed, and force and although Dean started out trying to be brave the continuous onslaught had him howling. His entire backside was on fire. A few times, a particularly hard hit had him standing up but John gently pushed him back over and continued. Until eventually Dean broke and began to sob.

"Dad, I'm sorry. Please, no more. Please"

John studied his son gave him three more quick and solid smacks before setting down the belt and rubbing the boy's back and neck.

"There, it's over now, just breathe, son," John said gently as Dean continued to cry into his arms as he lay limp over the couch.

John put his belt back on and gave Dean a few more minutes before he told him to pull himself together and get started on his homework.

It was a while before Dean had calmed down enough to pull up his boxers and wash his face before finding his bookbag and pulling out his homework. He let out a quiet hiss when he sat down on the hard wooden library chairs.

"Alright son, what are you having trouble with?"

Well, THAT was unexpected. Honestly, I had planned to write John as a real abusive dick that took it way too far and he didn't let me. It kinda through my whole idea out of whack, what I planned before just isn't going to work out now. Thanks, John.

I also apparently really like to write dialog.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Send some feedback. Or suggestions as to the next chapter cause I'm not sure what to do with a John that's not completely terrible.