WBY- RYR chapter 3
Suddenly there was the smell of the street and exhaust fumes and the stink of the city. It felt both fresher than the club and incredibly sickening at the same time.
It was all she wrote.
Dean wasn't sure if it was the smell or not, but the vomit that he had been keeping at bay decided to make itself known. Dean managed to make a flappy arm signal that his father somehow understood because he was dropped to the ground without ceremony. His father stood, arms crossed, face stony, not moving as if daring Dean to puke on his boots.
Dean would not puke on his Dad's boots.
Dean quickly turned to one side and promptly threw up on the side of the street, missing his father's boots by scant inches.
Thank you, God. Oh thank you that I didn't puke on Dad.
There was no gentle back rub or words of comfort that usually accompanied Dean puking. Dean hated to hurl. Hated it with every fiber of his being and as such, he seldom puked. Luckily he had been blessed with an iron stomach. Apparently whatever iron stomach magic he had normally felt was gone in the aftermath of whatever he drank in CBGBs; along with the contents of whatever had been in his stomach.
He heaved a few more times, brushed his hand across his mouth and then stood shakily leaning up against a taxi parked on the side of the road. Great, Dean had just added his own personal stamp to the scent of New York City.
"You done?" Dad asked gruffly.
"Yeah," Dean answered suddenly feeling more than a little pissed.
Yeah, he had snuck out, gone to a club, gotten drunk and yeah – probably not a good idea but his father had just walked into CBGBs at 3am in the morning. He had intimidated everyone in his line of vision and dragged Dean through the club like he was a little kid.
Now that there was no longer the overwhelming urge to hurl, Dean decided he was mortified.
Dean was beyond mortified. He couldn't even think of a word strong enough to express how he felt. Then there was another sinking feeling in his belly as he thought of Sasha. Sasha had seen the entire thing! Burly Dude had been so freaked out he had "Yes, sirred." Dad right in the middle of CBGBs! The freakin' bouncer had been so scared he had barely said a word! Dean would gladly puke all night if there were a way to rewind the last ten minutes.
Dean would never again be able to show his face in the entire city of NEW YORK!
"You!" Dean pointed a finger accusingly at his father, anger welling up inside him like a volcano, "You had no right to do that! You embarrassed me in front of my friends. Hell, you embarrassed me in front of all of CBGBs! I can not believe it!"
"Oh, believe it all right. Now get your ass into the car."
Despite the rage he felt, Dean turned with ingrained obedience to look for the Impala. Instead there was just the dingy yellow taxi he was leaning against. His father offered a curt nod in its direction.
Dean grabbed the back door and flung it open with a vengeance. His father followed quickly and slammed the door behind them both. The taxi driver pulled out into traffic, obviously already knowing where they were going.
"You shouldna done that, Dad. Shouldna treated me like a little kid. Actually you hunted me down like a Black Dog. Worse than a Black Dog. At least the Black Dog would be dead," Dean's voice was slurred and whiney even to his own ears.
His father turned to face him, eyes steely, "That could be arranged."
"I get it, you're pissed but dude…so very wrong," Dean said.
His father's brows furrowed in anger and said, "I am your father, not a dude."
"Are too so a dude!" Dean proclaimed petulantly, "Such a shitty thing to do to your own kid!" Dean allowed his head to slump against the back seat. The motion made him nauseous again so he snapped his head up and glared at his father, "Uncool, man, uncool."
Dad ignored him.
There was a little piece of Dean's muddy brain that realized it was unfair. That he was being unfair. Then he thought of one of Dad's sayings, "Life is unfair. Deal with it."
Deal with it, old man Dean thought but didn't say. Later he would think he must have had at least a brain cell or two firing away.
Dad continued the silence on the way home. It was almost as if Dad was afraid to say anything. That seemed unlikely to Dean. John Winchester was afraid of nothing and certainly not Dean. Dean continued to whine - Dad was just a dick. Dad had screwed up Dean's life. Dad had embarrassed Dean with levels of humiliation unheard of before. Dad was so very, very wrong.
His father said nothing to admonish Dean. No reply. No cuff to the head. No threat. He just sat their listening to Dean's rants and whining like it was no big thing. Like Dean always spoke to him that way. That he tolerated rude, obnoxious, disrespectful kids on a routine basis.
They pulled up in front of the hotel and his father threw some twenties at the driver.
"Keep it, " Dad said without ceremony.
He got out of the car curbside and reached in to haul Dean out, not even allowing Dean to open other door to get out himself.
This time his father pushed instead of dragged. He had Dean firmly by the back of the collar and shoved him through the front door of the hotel room. Thank goodness Sam opened it for them!
"Dean! Are you okay?" Sam's worry was evident in every syllable.
"M'fine," Dean answered.
"Not for long," Dad mentioned with a low rumble.
"Sammy, go to bed," Dad said.
Sam must have had a pretty good idea what was going to happen. Dean did too really.
"Dad? Seriously? It's a hotel room with two queen beds? How am I going to sleep?"
"Then go to the bathroom."
"The bathroom?"
"Yes, the bathroom. Take a shower. Turn the water on. Bring that lousy clock radio in with you and listen to whatever you want, just crank it up."
Sam flapped his arms out like a befuddled albatross but headed to the side of the bed where he unplugged the clock radio and stomped into the bathroom with the cord trailing behind him like a wounded snake.
A moment later the jagged sounds of "Whoomp –There It Is, Whoomp There it is!" came through the bathroom door.
Dad turned, spun and opened the bathroom door with a bang. Sam was sitting on the toilet, fully clothed still holding the clock radio.
"Any thing but THAT!" Dad bellowed.
Sam's startled face almost made Dean laugh. "What? That's what was on!"
His father took a brisk step toward Sam and Sam quickly spun the dial to another station. Mariah Carey and Luther Vandross were singing about their endless love. Apparently that was better but not a lot.
"Get a shower!" He yelled to Sam who was already slipping off his sleep pants.
"Jeeze, Dad it's 0430?"
"Would you rather run?"
"No, sir."
Dad slammed the door closed and stalked over to Dean.
"Now about you."
"Me? You are the one who embarrassed me by dragging…DRAGGING me out of that club!"
"You are lucky I just didn't start leathering your ass while we were there," his father said his voice whiskey rough.
"I…I hate you!" The words were out before he thought about them, but he didn't care.
His father took a deep breath and ran a hand over his grizzled face. His anger seemed to have deflated a bit, although his eyes were still hard.
"Okay. You hate me. Well, guess what, I love you. You'll probably hate me more before this day is done but I'm still goin' to be loving you. That doesn't mean that I'm gonna let you run around like some punk ass bitch. Did you really think you would get away with this? That I wouldn't find out? That I wouldn't find you? C'mon, Dean. I hunt monsters for a living; you are just a kid. A kid who up until recently, has managed to keep it fairly civil. But tonight? Tonight you crossed a line-"
Dean cut his father off in mid sentence, "No DAD! You crossed a line. You came in a night club and dragged me out in front of everybody!"
Dad rounded on Dean, agitation smoldering in every cord of every muscle in his body, "You think that's a bad thing? A bad thing would've been letting you stay there. Under aged, fucked up on God knows what and in trouble. Not just trouble from me Dean. Trouble from anything or anyone! Do you think your little friends were going to help you? They were laughing at you, and you were so damn tanked even you thought that was funny. So you got embarrassed. Deal with it. You'll get embarrassed by me more times than you can count before you are a grown man and maybe some after. I'm a dad and embarrassing my kids is part of my job. You don't like me? That's fine. It's not my job to be liked. It's my job to raise you right."
Dean almost finished the sentence for his father; he'd heard it so many times. He wisely didn't though. John Winchester was on a roll.
"You know what? I don't give a shit how embarrassed you were. I hope to hell you remember every goddamn person who saw you 'embarrassed' tonight because your old man cared enough to drag your sorry ass out of a fucking night club!"
His father was yelling now and it had the desired effect. Dean stood still a little shocked at the volume. His Dad could sure yell when he wanted to. Dean had the good grace, or maybe it was self-preservation, to drop his head, his facing blazing with heat.
Christ, Dad was right. He was right and Dean was wrong and why in the hell did he say all that shit in the car?
He had been angry. He was still angry but apparently Dean anger couldn't compete with Dad anger. Especially if Dad anger was fucking justified. Just a few moments ago Dean had felt like he was right- sort of. Now he wasn't so sure.
Oh Jesus, things were bad. So very bad and Dean had made them that way. He had been embarrassed by Dad at the club but now he was embarrassed at himself.
Dad just stood there looking at Dean and Dean stood their looking at the floor. The ugly, gray paisley rug held his attention as if it were made of sanctified silver.
"C'mere," Dad said not yelling anymore. Dean went and stood next to him his face still burning.
"I'm so disappointed, Dean. I really didn't expect you to pull a stunt like this. I was hoping yesterday's fun would have been enough. It just makes me realize that we need to stay away from cities like this. I can't believe that I couldn't trust you to stay here after the great time we had yesterday. I mean, c'mon, kiddo."
Dean didn't have anything to say about that. They did have fun sight seeing and eating pizza and trash talking the Yankees.
His father sighed, "Drop 'em and over my lap."
His father sat down on a wooden kitchen chair. Well, it would be a kitchen chair if there were a kitchen. Dean figured it was the hotel management's idea of comfortable seating.
"Dad…"
Dad's voice dropped a notch. "Don't make me tell you again, Dean."
Dean unbuckled his belt then unbuttoned and unzipped, dropping trou, letting his jeans pool at the bottom of his ankles. His father nodded and Dean sighed dropping his boxer briefs too. Christ, bare assed.
His father didn't give him a chance to drape himself over his knees; instead he reached up and pulled him down without preamble. Dean found himself in the unenviable position of lying bare assed over his dad's hard knees. A moment later he wished it were only hard knees he had to deal with as his father's harder hand slapped firm and fast over his butt. Dean yelped with the first volley and then tried to keep quiet as it continued. Tried was key word. Tried but failed miserably. Dean didn't really expect anything different. Dad didn't often decide to physically discipline his boys, but when he did he made sure the lesson stayed learned. The fact that he was using his hand instead of his handy belt was indicative of how upset he was.
Dean had only been belted a time or two. Usually it was a few sharp stripes of leather on ass. That kind of spanking was reactionary, this one was methodical and determined. His father was going to make sure that not a spot on his ass would remain unscathed.
Dean tried to wiggle off. It wasn't his style; he was more the stoic type of kid; grin and take the whipping with just a bit of sassiness. It was true; he never felt all that sassy when he was getting his ass handed to him, but Dean was hard wired to have a smart mouth. Sometimes it went poorly for Dean usually though, he managed to keep smart remarks toned down while his butt was being roasted. Although he was a hard ass, he didn't have a hard ass!
Dean closed his eyes, trying not to concentrate on Dad's hand peppering his butt. It was impossible so he opened them to see that damn gray paisley carpet just below his head. Dad tipped him forward and he caught himself on his hands. The carpet felt moist. Moist was a horrible word, just the thought of it made him wrinkle his nose. Moist, paisley carpet. Guh!
He never much thought of it before, but he decided then and there he hated paisley. Stupid freaking squirrelly tear dropped shapes. Teardrop wasn't really inappropriate for the situation though because the paisley teardrops were just foreshadowing for his own.
Yeah, Dean Winchester was crying like a little bitch.
He didn't even know he was crying till he saw the paisley.
It didn't stop Dad though. He kept right on smacking. Dad did hesitate a moment and Dean felt rather than saw him shake his right hand a bit while still keeping his left over Dean's body, tucking him in tight. Maybe his ass was tougher than he thought?
Not.
Once again, the deluge began. . There was a new bloom of pain in his ass and Dean started crying in earnest. He didn't care that he was 15. He didn't care that his night had been cool –up until it wasn't. He didn't care that he'd been to CBGBs. That he'd met Sasha -she of the purple hair and glittery gloss. That Burly Dude had seen him be dragged through the damn club. All he cared about was when Dad would stop blistering his ass.
Dad did. Finally.
"Get yourself together then pick a corner."
Dean stood shakily, his long flannel shirt covering his junk and his ass. As if he fucking cared, "A corner?"
Dad wearily turned to Dean, "Dean, I don't wanna go another round but I'm more than willing."
Dean pulled up his underwear and his jeans, zipping up and buckling his belt. Despite the fact that the fabric hurt like hell against his battered butt he was going to make sure that he and his ass were as well covered as possible. Dad could easily swat him if he want to.
"No, sir."
He headed to a corner and dropped his head into the V space where both walls met.
"Rack it back, Dean. This isn't downtime. I want you thinking about what happened last night and this morning."
Dean straightened up, feeling sore and miserable and still a little angry. He wiped his nose with his shirtsleeve. It was gross. He didn't move though, didn't say a word. It wouldn't help and it wouldn't make him feel better.
He heard the sound of Sam opening the bathroom door. He'd forgotten all about Sam. In his defense, it was hard to think of anything with your ass in the air and your head almost touching a gray paisley rug. Dean thought it had something to do with all the blood rushing to a kid's head. No one could think like that. He considered that corner time, while insanely stupid to a kid, did make sense. Dean knew why he had gotten spanked but during the spanking himself he couldn't think of anything other than his father's hard hand on his flaming butt. Now he could think.
Just like Dad wanted him to do.
Damn Dad and his ability to figure shit out like that and then make Dean figure it out on his own.
He ran through his escapades last night through his head.
Snuck out way, way after curfew.
Went out on his own in New York City. The place he and Sammy had begged Dad to go and Dad had listened to them. Even though he hadn't wanted to. True they had a great time but that was then and this was now.
Went to a nightclub. One that was notorious for bad things happening at. One that even some adults wouldn't go to.
Had gotten shitfaced. Yeah, he hadn't done any drugs but he had been around it being done and he had known Dad wouldn't have wanted that. It was bad enough he'd been drinking.
Had read Dad the riot act all the way home. He tried to remember what he had said. He had said a lot of stuff. Had he really called Dad a dick? Oh God, he had! Dean could never remember calling Dad a name like that. Oh, he'd thought it a time or two, but actually said it? To his face? There had to be a special hell for boys who called their father's dicks.
Then he had said he had said something he'd never thought he would say. He'd told Dad that he hated him. Hated Dad. That was the worse. Worse then cussing or calling him names. And in return his father had told him he loved him. How can you love a kid who just said he hated you? How could you ever forgive someone for that?
Dean sighed to himself. He heard his father move behind him and announce that he was going to get breakfast and did Sammy want to come?
"No, sir," Sam said quietly with as much respectfulness as he could. Although he had done nothing wrong, Dean knew that Sam knew that it was just better to shut up and sir Dad.
"Dean, you stay right where you are."
"Yes, sir," came his reply. A moment later the door opened and closed.
Then it was just he and Sammy.
"Jeeze, Dean…it sounded like he was killing you out here."
"That's 'cause he was."
Sam moved over to the corner so that Dean could see him without turning around.
"Why did you sneak out?"
Dean sighed again, "'Cause I'm an asshole. A stupid asshole," Dean turned to Sam, but didn't move away from the corner.
"I had a good time, though Sammy. Really good," Dean smirked. He figured he looked a little crazy considering his eyes red were from crying and he was grinning like a damn monkey.
Sam shook his head and considered Dean with eleven year old wisdom, "I don't think there is enough 'good time' to negate Dad kicking your ass."
"That's 'cause you're a dumb kid, Sammy. You just don't understand adult fun, " Dean said with an air of worldly superiority. It didn't seem to matter that he'd just been spanked like a six year old. It didn't even matter that he had just called himself an asshole. He was an asshole and stupid too but it didn't mean that he wanted Sammy to think it hadn't been fun.
"Well, I don't want adult fun if it means Dad beats my ass like he just did you. I'll stick to my books."
Sam patted his worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.
"You know Dean," Sam mused, "Even Scout got spanked. I think her uncle felt bad about it though."
"Well, I don't think Dad feels bad about it at all," Dean commented then tilted his head quizzically, "Scout?"
"Yeah, she's the main protagonist in the book," Sam raised the book up to Dean as if by showing him would make all of the difference in the world.
"Scout is a girl?"
"Well, it's not her real name but yeah."
"Well, any girl called 'Scout' should get her ass kicked on principle alone."
Sam snorted, "Scout was a tough little kid."
"Sam, you do realize this is a fictional character right?"
"She may be fictional character but she's not standing in a corner with her ass on fire," Sam paused a moment, lips pursed, "Dean, literary references are lost on you. Trying to discuss anything more than a comic book in your presence is impossible!"
"Graphic novels. They're graphic novels," Dean muttered.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Sam said and then turned with what could only be called a flounce. He headed to the bed and Dean couldn't see him anymore unless he left the corner, which Dean had no intention whatsoever of doing.
He heard their familiar knock- call sign as his father stepped into the hotel room carrying breakfast. Dean heard him kick the door shut with his foot and drop breakfast on the tiny table that served as research/eating area – minus one of the kitchen chairs, which was still in the middle of the room; a witness to Dean's ass kicking.
"Breakfast, boys."
"Dad? Can, I um, sit down for breakfast?" Dean asked, nose still firmly in the corner.
"Probably not," Dad chuckled, "but you can step away from the corner and join us for breakfast."
Dean could feel the warmth in his face, as he turned red again, "It's not nice to pick on a kid," he said as he headed toward breakfast.
"It's not nice for a kid to disobey his father," his Dad countered.
Dean couldn't help the small smile on his face, "Point taken."
His father looked meaningfully at Dean, "I sure hope so, son."
Sam sat down at the table and started peeling away the wrapper of a breakfast sandwich with a tentative pinch of forefinger and thumb.
"Jesus, Sammy, it's a sandwich, not a bomb," Dean said.
"Shaddup," Sam said without heat.
Dean grabbed a sandwich and a cup of caffeine. He ripped the paper off the sandwich and inhaled it in three bites and then licked congealed cheese from the wrapper. He looked at the chair still in the middle of the room with equal measures of longing and dread, then glanced at his father, "You're right about the sitting down."
Dad quirked a brow in Dean's direction, "Well, if my hand is any indication of your ass than its not so hard to figure it out."
Dean leaned up against the table; carefully making sure that his ass didn't touch anything.
It was quiet for a while with just the contented munching of a man and two boys making quick work of breakfast. Even Sammy ate the sandwich without complaint. Dean belched long and loud, looking at Sammy for some remark. When that didn't get a rise from Sam he farted.
"Much better, " Dean said flicking a glance at his father.
"Well, at least your ass still works, Dean," Dad offered.
"You're disgusting," Sam growled. Dean wasn't sure if it was intended for Dean or Dad but he doubted Sam was going to dis Dad and his relaxed attitude toward bodily functions.
"'M'not disgusting," Dean said over a mouthful of tatertots, "I'm adorable."
"You're insufferable, " Dad amended.
"That too," Dean agreed.
They finished breakfast. Dean cleared the table and Sam settled heavily on the bed with his book. It was quiet and a little uncomfortable. Post-ass kicking was always that way for the kid who got it but it usually wasn't nice for anyone in the room either.
Dad broke the silence.
"So boys, how about a little 5K? We'll see New York from the street level. You two up for it?" Dad asked, which was weird. Typically there was no give and take when it came to running. Dad told you to run and you ran.
"Sure," Dean said but he couldn't stop the slightly reflexive moan that followed his word.
His father glanced meaningfully in Dean's direction.
"What? You broke my ass, not my legs."
Dad nodded then grabbed headed to his duffle to pull out his sweatpants. Sam was already wearing them so it was up to Dean to do the same. Dean steeled himself to take down his jeans, just pulling them over his aching butt created friction he didn't want to have to deal with. He consoled himself with the fact that the sweatpants were softer. Of course he had to sit on the bed to put on his shoes, that was a lesson in humility.
Soon enough though all three Winchesters were dressed and heading out the door. Their hotel was in a seedier section of the city but that wasn't a problem. It never was a problem when your name was Winchester.
"Okay boys, let's show New York how it's done," Dad said.
And they did.
End.