The finale, hopefully it's satisfying.

Huge thanks to my betas Edge_of_Clairvoyance (ao3) and WaywardDaughter18 ( u/8098287/) for helping me with this story, encouraging, brainstorming, providing the most excellent beta services, and just generally being awesome, and being huge factors in me being able to complete this and feel good about the finished product.

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Anyone on the outside would've thought Dean was crazy for not considering Sam's behavior of the next few weeks an improvement. He was respectful, obedient, did everything he was supposed to without being asked, and volunteered for stuff that wasn't even his job, like helping with dinner.

It was downright creepy. To the point Dean had found himself doing research on body snatchers in his spare time, but all indications so far - including having him set the table with a silver plated butter knife and slipping holy water in Sam's chocolate milk - pointed to the fact that Sam was himself. He just wasn't acting like it.

When Dad had returned he'd looked at Sam quizzically, but didn't seem perturbed by the odd behavior. So it was just Dean left worrying about what was going on in his little brother's head.

Dad had ganked the witch, but he suspected she had been part of a coven. He was still trying to confirm it and find the coven so he could take it out. He'd been pouring over news clippings and calling contacts non-stop.

It was Saturday afternoon, Dad had been out at the library when he returned home with a tense energy that made both boys sit up and take notice. Their instincts were confirmed a moment later.

"Brennan called me back, he might have a lead on the coven I've been tracking. I'm going to meet him and we're going to go check it out. I'll be back by Tuesday."

Sam spoke up first, already struggling under one of the heavy duffles. "Here, Dad, I checked the weapons bag this morning, got everything cleaned and repacked. I can take it out to the impala for you."

"That's great, son, but let Dean do that, I need you in here."

Sam tried to hide his disappointment as Dean took the duffle from him. "Yessir, um, what did you need me for?"

"It'll only take me a minute to grab what I need for such a short trip, and we have business to take care of before I go."

Dean saw Sam's eyes cloud over and stopped in his tracks. This was bad.

"But, Dad . . ."

"Sam." Dad's tone was weary, but Dean knew that there was a very short step from that into dangerous territory if the recipient didn't heed it. He had a sneaking suspicion Sam wasn't about to.

"Dad! You said I had to accept it, learn what I was supposed to and I did. I did everything right ever since you've been back! And the whole time you were gone I listened to Dean, I was respectful, I did extra chores. Just ask him! You don't have to-"

"Goddamn it, Sam! Are you really that scared of a spanking? What the hell is the matter with you? I told you what was going to happen. Do you think I'm going to go back on my word and just forget the rest of your discipline?"

"Why not, you always go back on your word."

Dean didn't remember consciously dropping the duffle. He didn't remember deciding to move, but the next thing he knew he was in between his dad and brother with his arms outstretched. His dad had stepped forward, hands already fumbling at his belt buckle, but hadn't had time to react further when he found himself glaring at the unexpected obstacle.

"Dean. Get out. Of my way."

"Dad, Dad! You're too mad, you've gotta cool off first, please."

"I don't have time, Dean. I've got to meet Brennan-"

"Okay, okay, then just not the belt."

"You don't get to decide how I discipline my son. He deserves a whipping."

"Maybe. I hear you, but you're too angry, you're going to be too hard on him, and you said you don't have time to cool off. Are you really telling me you won't be able to leave him in a world of hurt with just your hand? Because I have a few memories that would contradict that -"

"Dean." His dad was still boiling mad, but he was listening.

Dean decided it was time to play his ace. He threw all the terror he was feeling up to the surface so his dad could see his sincerity. "Dad, please. Don't hurt him."

It worked. Dean could tell by the way his dad's face twitched. He tried not to let his sigh of relief show; the smallest mistake could still cause the whole situation to go up in flames.

"Fine. Move."

There was little more Dean could do besides obey.

He turned to the side and saw that Sam hadn't budged an inch. Whether this was more because he was petrified or still in defiance, Dean couldn't tell.

Dad glared at Sam. "I don't want to hear another word out of you. You can't buy your way out of a punishment that you earned. You definitely can't speak to me that way and get away with it. Drop 'em."

Sam had apparently got whatever part of his brain that was in charge of self preservation functional again, because he shed his pants and boxers in record time and kicked them aside.

"Get your ass over here."

He walked up to Dad mechanically. Dad yanked him close and bent him over, tucking him under his left arm. He wasted no time swinging his hand like a paddle, connecting with Sam's bare bottom over and over, the loud cracks seeming to echo in the room. It wasn't long before Sam was whimpering and his hips moving of their own volition to try to escape the blows.

Dean tried to shut it out as he did every time Sam was getting punished. It never worked, and this time was no exception. Sam's yelps rose in pitch and volume and Dean could tell his dad was now concentrating on lower on his undercurve and thighs, where he'd feel it whenever he sat down. Sam's cries turned to howls as the punishment continued, and Dean clenched his fists, silently begging his Dad to decide it was enough.

Finally he stopped. Sam's hiccuping sobs were the only sound for several seconds. His dad sat his brother down on the bed right on what had to be a blistered red ass.

John shot some final orders at Dean while grabbing important papers from his research and tucking them in his smaller bag, hefting the weapons duffle to his shoulder on the way out the door.

"Dean, get him to bed. You will tell me if he steps a toe out of line while I'm gone. And he will take a belt whipping for it - I'll be as calm as you like. I strongly suggest you not make a habit of what you pulled tonight, are we clear?"

"Yes, sir."

The door closed firmly, and the only sound was his brother's shuddery, tear-filled breathing.

Dean approached him cautiously like he would a wild animal. He put a hand on his shoulder. Sam flinched and went statue still, as if Dean's attempt at comfort was something else he had to endure. Dean withdrew his hand reluctantly.

"Get up, Sam, lay down on the bed on your stomach."

If Sam wasn't going to let him help him feel better that way, he'd be damned if he just did nothing. His dad would never find out. And if he did, he'd take whatever punishment he wanted to dish out.

Sam obeyed, stiffly. Dean ached to assist him, but he wouldn't force it on him.

He broke open their spare first aid kit and got some bruise cream. He gently applied it to Sam's backside down to his thighs where the evidence of his punishment ended. He'd been right, Dad hadn't needed a belt to do a number on Sam's ass. Dean touched the back of his brother's head when he was done and got that flinch again.

He sighed. "You don't have to get in your pjs if you don't want to, Sam. You can just sleep like this for tonight."

The sun was going to be up for hours yet, but dad had apparently wanted Sam sent to bed early. Not like Sam would feel up for anything much after that. Hopefully he would be able to sleep; there wasn't much more Dean could do for him.

"I'm sorry, Sam." There was no response from the still figure on the bed. Dean settled in for a miserable weekend.

Sam knew that had been a brainless move - one of the stupidest things he could have done. He hadn't been able to stop the words coming out of his mouth even as it felt like there was one part of his brain sitting back watching him sign his death warrant going, "What an idiot! Someone should stop him."

He was still very sore when he woke up early the next morning. He forced himself to slip on the loosest pair of jeans he owned. Hopefully Dean would stop feeling obligated to make him feel better if the evidence was covered up; he just wanted to forget about all of this.

He spent most of the day lying on the bed on his stomach trying to do homework. He found himself having to re-read the same questions because he kept spacing out. He occasionally broke out into tears out of the blue, but thankfully he'd at least been able to hide that from Dean.

Dean gave him the space he was clearly asking for. He brought him some cheese and crackers for lunch, just left the plate on the bed without a word. Apparently he'd noticed Sam had barely been able to touch the pb&j he made himself for breakfast.

It was still early evening when the lock clicked and their dad came through the door. He went searching through the stack of books by the night stand while tersely informing Dean, "Lead panned out, Brennan's out in the parking lot. Bobby, Caleb, and Bill are gonna meet us, this is big."

He grabbed two of the books, pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket, and tossed it on the table. "Money - should be enough."

He looked over at Sam for the first time, then sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He sat down on the bed next to him. "Come here, Sam." His voice was soft.

They both felt Dean hovering nearby, biting back the protest on his lips. Sam got up, a pit of dread in his stomach, and went to stand by his dad's knee. Dad's hands were gentle as he lowered his pants to just under his butt. He took equal care leaning him over his lap.

There was a pause, like his dad was studying his handiwork from the day before. He rested his hand on it and Sam stifled a hiss. He braced himself as the first swat fell.

It . . . It still hurt. But the smack wasn't even at half force. It wasn't even half of that. At the eighth spank delivered the same way, Sam felt a small whine escape his throat. His dad stopped, helped him up, and pulled his pants back over his sore bottom with the same caution he'd shown in removing them. He squeezed his shoulders. "I've gotta go. Be good, Sam."

And with that he was gone. Sam's eyes had remained dry throughout the ordeal, but as the solid thunk of the door closing reverberated throughout the room, he felt moisture hit his cheeks. He moved to wipe them mechanically and in doing so caught movement in his periphery. Dean was mirroring him, dashing tears from his own face.

The shock alone held his attention. Dean didn't just cry. Not once in a blue moon. He didn't have to ask why though. He hadn't seen him do it in awhile, but he could easily enough recall memories of his brother soothing him after a spanking, and thinking that Dean was taking it harder than Sam himself - even to the point of shedding tears as if he had taken the whooping.

Suddenly any remaining pig-headedness was gone and all he really wanted was - "Dean!"

In a heartbeat, his big brother was there, holding him, keeping him from falling as he suddenly found himself sobbing in earnest, face buried in his brother's flannel shirt. Dean somehow got them both to the bed and, after settling himself crosslegged on top of it, pulled Sam into his lap. He shouldn't have fit. Dean was going to say something about chick flicks any second. He had to get a grip and . . .

Like he'd read his mind, Dean's hand went to the back of Sam's head, holding him tighter, and he murmured in his ear, "It's okay, Sammy. I think we've both earned a free pass. Just let it out, little brother."

That did it. He just let himself cry for a little while, feeling all of four years old. All of the anger and frustration and hurt of the past weeks just came draining out of him; he couldn't recall the last time he'd cried like this.

He wasn't sure how many minutes passed. He didn't remember making the conscious decision to speak, but heard himself wail through his sobs, "It, it, it's not faaaair!"

Dean rubbed his back, holding him through the whole thing. "I know Sammy, I get it. I'm sorry man. It's not fair to you at all. I try, though, I do my best to make it up to you, you know?"

That got through to Sam. He quieted his whimpers and pulled back a little looking up through his still flowing tears. He snuffled wetly "Yeah, I know, Dean. Sorry I was a dick."

"It's okay, Sammy, I understand why. I did all along."

"He, he doesn't!" some of the hurt and defiance had returned to his voice.

Dean paused, choosing his words carefully,"What Dad does is real important, but I swear, he doesn't mean to act like it's more important to him than you."

"You always treat me like I'm the most important. You're a good brother, Dean. The best. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"Hey, it's okay. I'll make you a promise, Sam . . ."

He trailed off, clearly worried about his choice of words, but Sam gave him a watery smile. "I'd like to hear it, Dean. I trust you."

Dean's pleased grin was the best thing Sam had seen in a long time. "Next time we have a problem, we'll settle it between us, deal?"

Sam hesitated, the moment of utter betrayal still raw in his mind, "You never did that before, sell me out like that."

"No, you're right. And I won't again, but you kinda freaked me out, man."

"Huh?"

"You just got this stubborn look on your face, and I thought you were really gonna disappear on me. And I was thinking what if maybe I didn't find you in time and something happened to you. I couldn't, I . . . Anyway, I had no idea he was gonna react the way he did. I'm really sorry. I'd sooner have taken the belt myself. You gotta know that, Sam." he ended softly, hopeful.

"Course Dean; think I don't know you've taken a whipping for me before? I wasn't thinking straight."

"Are we - good? I, I really missed you, past few weeks."

He'd been right here, too close most of the time in the small living space, but Sam knew what he was saying. "Missed you too. C- could . . . Do you think maybe we could go to the movies sometime? I got some quarters saved up . . ."

Dean threw back his head in relieved laughter, "You save your quarters, Sam. I may've had the cash tucked away for a while now."

Of course he did. Sam felt like a grade-a jackass. He'd already apologized for it though, and he could feel both of their tolerance for the chick flick moment waning. "Guess I'm buying the popcorn then, jerk"

"Fine, bitch, don't forget the extra butter."

They sat there for another few minutes, though, both of them apparently equally loath to leave. When Dean did extricate himself to go start dinner he gave Sam a brief hug and a cocky smile. For the first time since that first night, everything was right in Sam's world.

Sam woke up in the middle of the night a couple of weeks later to dim lights and a hushed whisper of voices. A glance at the clock confirmed it was shortly after 3am.

He got up cautiously to find his brother was putting the finishing touches on bandaging his dad's upper arm. As silently as possible, he got out of bed and hovered nearby, just out of the full lamplight.

"Nice work, Dean, thank you. Mind getting me some whiskey? Left my tumbler on the second shelf next to the bottle."

"Sure thing, Dad." Dean turned to obey.

"Hey, Sammy, sorry we woke you." His dad sounded exhausted.

"It's okay, Dad. Are . . .? What happened?"

"A scratch, I'll be fine." something about his dad's tone and demeanor told Sam it had been a closer call than he was saying. He drew closer and put his hand on his dad's arm, staying well clear of the bandage.

His dad held out his other arm, "C'mere, son."

Sam came around and leaned into the one sided embrace, wiping a rogue tear on his dad's shirt.

After a moment, Dad gently pulled him back, so they were side by side, but kept his arm around his shoulders. "We took out the coven. Should be home for a little while."

There was a weighty pause, "I've, I haven't enjoyed us being at odds over the past weeks, Sam. I'd like to try to start fresh, if we can?"

"I'd like that, Dad. I'm sorry for . . ."

"I forgive you, Sammy. I'd - if you still want to, I'd like to take you both to the movies sometime. I don't know when . . ." He looked up at him with uncharacteristic uncertainty, and Sam gave him a small smile.

"It's okay dad. We'll go whenever you can?"

"Sounds like a plan. You should probably get some sleep."

"Yessir." Dad didn't let go of him, though, and he wasn't about to break out of his hold. He wouldn't mind just staying here leaning into him, soaking up his warmth and strength, as long as he was allowed.

Dean could barely contain his giddy joy at the sight of them as he brought the tumbler and set it on the table in front of them. He took the chair on the other side and the Winchester men enjoyed a rare moment of peace.

As it turned out, the peace lasted nearly a month. One Sunday, Dad caught wind of a possible werewolf in Kentucky and made plans to head out later that afternoon. He was double checking all three of the bags when Sam cleared his throat.

Dad looked up at him and, nerves going haywire, Sam tried to calmly deliver the words he'd rehearsed in his head, "Sir, I'm ready for my reminder whenever you are."

The look on his dad's face made him wonder if he'd actually forgotten he had one more coming, or even if he'd planned on letting it slide. That didn't sound like his dad, but . . .

Dad cleared his throat roughly, "Good man. Wait for me on the bed."

"Yessir."

He perched on the edge of the bed, trying to stifle his anxiety and watched as his dad finished fiddling with the bags. "Dean, can you take these out to the car?"

"Yes, sir." Dean's voice was subdued, but not unduly troubled. The door shut behind him and Dad came to sit next to him on the bed.

"This is the last one."

"Yessir."

"I know you think this was an unfair punishment . . ."

Sam squirmed a little on the bed and his dad raised an eyebrow, "What is it, son?"

"I don't. Anymore. I deserve a whooping. I shouldn't have given you and Dean so much trouble."

"Can you understand that when I'm gone I worry about you; I'm not here to make sure you two are safe. The only assurance I have is that I know Dean is obeying the rules, and you're obeying Dean."

"Yessir. I won't do it again, I promise."

"I appreciate that, Sam. Pants down; over my lap."

Sam stood and obeyed, pulling his pants down to his knees and laying himself over his dad's lap.

His dad began to spank him at a slow, steady tempo, thoroughly covering his bottom with swats. When Sam was gasping and biting back whimpers, his dad picked up the pace a little and gave some extra attention to the lower part of his bottom and upper thighs. The intensity built until Sam was crying steadily, and with four final hard swats it was over.

Sam stayed draped over his dad's lap for a few moments until he'd managed to reduce his crying to occasional sniffles. Then his dad carefully helped him up, pulled up his pants for him, and stood.

"You all right, Sam?"

"Yessir."

"Alright. I trust you'll mind your brother. Come here." He grabbed him in a bear hug. "Goodbye, Sammy."

"Bye, Dad."

He ruffled his hair and was out the door.

People always said Sam was a smart kid. He knew Dad was most likely going to let him down again. But maybe Dean was right: just because Dad didn't choose Sam over the job every time Sam wanted him to, didn't mean he didn't care. And Sam was lucky; he had Dean, who would always come through for him, even if Dad didn't. That was a promise he knew his brother would never break.