AN: Well, finally here's the last part of my story. I hope you like it.

Warning: Corporal punishment in this chapter as well. . I've said this once and I'll say it again – if you don't like it, don't read and do not review! I've read the same warnings on other stories whether they be slash, torture, violence, incest, you name it. You have been warned. So don't make me come find you! Other than that, enjoy.

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters or make any money.

Thanks for reading. Tell me if you'd like a sequel.

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Just as with Sam, I didn't waste much time with talking. I could see Dean gripping the bed cover, his strong arms tensed as he waited for the first stroke to fall. The cords of his neck were also tight – he was bracing himself for this.

That was the different between the boys all right. Sam tried to talk me out of it; Dean was ready to set his teeth and bear it, whatever I decided to do. I raised the belt and brought it down in a solid wallop against his pajama-covered bottom.

He gave a sharp intake of breath, but did not make a sound, gripping the covers a little tighter.

I gave him another – he let his breath hiss through his teeth, but that was all.

So the guy was determined to take his punishment in silence. It made sense; even as a kid, Dean had always wanted Sammy to see him as the big, strong, tough, older brother who was almost invincible. Apparently, that had continued into their adult years, and though Sam seemed to have no problem with Dean seeing him cry and confess his guilt, Dean absolutely did not want Sam to see him doing the same.

A third stoke, and I could see Dean's hands gripping the covers for all he was worth, but damned if he would make a sound.

"You really think that's going to work?" I asked him.

"What?" he snapped, then hissed as I walloped him again.

"That stoic silence thing."

"What?" Dean growled between clenched teeth. "You want me to start blubbering like some sappy chick? Tell you how sorry I am? Not going to happen."

"Dean," I said quietly, continuing to smack him with the belt.

"You just go right on hitting me," he shot back. "I can take it."

"That's not the point," I began, but he cut me off angrily.

"Isn't it? You want me to get all this guilt off me, make me feel better by pounding at my ass? You're even stupider than I thought."

I was glad Sam was still in the bathroom because there was no telling what he might say to that. I didn't know if he would defend me or agree with his brother, but either way it was a good thing he stayed in there.

"I can keep this up as long as you need," I told him, laying down two firm smacks that made him wince.

"Well, you gotta do what you gotta do, and I'll do what I gotta do," he said, but his voice had weakened a little.

"Dean, this is not about you showing me how much pain you can stand," I told his dryly. "This is not a locker room with two guys flicking wet towels at each other to see who cries 'uncle!' first. This is about you and your brother. Want to guess the rest?"

"No," he answered, but I could see his grip loosening on the covers. And it was a good thing too, because if he had held them any tighter, he would have ripped them, and then we'd be paying for that as well as the TV.

"Come on," I pressed on, still walloping him firmly. The belt made an impressive sound as it hit down every time, and I knew the repetition of the sound would help break his stubbornness more than anything. I kept my strokes falling evenly, not too fast either. "Your brother had no trouble getting it out. You can, too."

"Yeah, well, Sammy's a baby," Dean said. He swiped at his face quickly, and then pretended that he hadn't, but I had already seen it.

"And you're Mr. Tough Guy," I said sarcastically. "You don't show your feelings, and you don't do anything wrong."

"Dad never made me show my feelings!" Dean barked out.

I nearly dropped my belt in surprise. Where had that come from? But I kept spanking him, acting as if I had expected it. "John let you misbehave and never got onto you about it?"

"No, he punished me all the time, but he never made me list my crimes and he certainly never made me cry when he punished me!"

"I didn't say you had to cry," I told him frankly. "I would just like some sign that you understand why I'm doing this."

"Yeah, you want to play Dad," Dean yelled.

I had been smacking him a lot longer than I had smacked Sammy, and a part of me wondering if Dean was drawing out his punishment because he thought he needed a longer one. I had feeling that for all his smart-ass attitude, Dean tended to keep everything bottled inside, torturing himself with guilt much better than anyone else could punish him. I was not surprised that John punished him frequently, especially when Sam left; John probably wanted the kid to feel that he had been punished so they could get on with their job without Dean beating himself up about it all. What was it going to take to get through to this stubborn boy?

"I am not your father," I said sternly, increasing the force of my strokes, hoping he would soon break. "I have no wish to be him. I am tired of you boys fighting and getting into trouble. I am tired of you worrying about everything and taking out your frustration on each other or keeping it all inside to the point that it tears you apart. Now, tell me what you need to say – why am I spanking you?"

"Because I'm a screw-up!" Dean bellowed, slamming his fists on the bed. "Because I ruin everything. I dragged Sammy into this when I couldn't find Dad! I joke around all the time because I know once I start acting serious, I ruin everything! I should have died there in the hospital. I should have died and not Dad! And I know he's somewhere suffering because of me, and that makes me so angry and out of control that I can't stand it. I want to die, I want to be sick, I want to do anything to make it stop, but it won't stop! It keeps going on and on, torture that never stops, and I hate it! And I know Dad wouldn't want me to be like this, and that makes me so damn angry I could kill someone right here. I am so tired of keeping it together. I'm tired of trying to figure everything out, to stay one step ahead all the time. I'm so freaking tired of the whole freaking world. I wished I had died in that hospital and it was all been over right now!"

And he finally broke down and started crying. His shoulders shook, and he grabbed the covers again, but he buried his face against his arms, fighting against his pain.

In the middle of his rant, Sam had walked out of the bathroom, but he stood still. And as Dean continued to yell out his pain, Sammy did not move as new tears streamed down his face.

I had stopped spanking Dean, but he made no move to get up. I sat down on the bed beside, but Dean didn't move, just kept shaking with sobs.

"Hey, hey," I put a hand on his shoulder. "I know it's hard. You boys have never had it easy, what with your mom dying that way, and your dad wanting to find her killer. You've had it rough, I'll admit that. But you can't keep blaming yourself. And I know I'm not your dad, and what I say might not mean as much as it would coming from him, but you got to believe when I say that you're going to be okay. You are not a screw-up. You might make a few lousy choices, but everyone does, even your dad. No, now," I objected as he began to shake his head, "John was not perfect. He had his faults like everyone. But he had a good heart, and I see that in both you and your brother. You have done the best you can with what you know. Sure, anyone can look back and say, 'I should have done this,' or 'If I knew that, it would have been different.' Hindsight's twenty-twenty – you can always look back and think you would have done different. But you've made good choices. You saved your brother when he was little, didn't you?"

His head nodded a little, but he still kept his face down.

"You've looked after him, and you've saved a lot of people, too. That's nothing to scoff at. You tried to be a good son and do what John told you, even when you didn't like it. You make a fine hunter and a fighter, and as for any other faults, well, you ain't dead yet. That's what life's for – making mistakes and learning to live better."

He finally lifted his head. His eyes were red, and his face was wet and blotchy, but he looked as if a huge burden had been lifted off his shoulders.

"You feel better now?" I asked.

"Yeah," Dean nodded the smallest bit. "I mean, my ass is on fire, and I don't really like you right now, but I'll be okay."

"You sure?" Sam asked from where he stood near the bathroom door.

"Jeez!" Dean pushed himself up off the bed. "How long you've been standing there watching?"

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sam asked again, stepping forward.

"Don't get all mushy on me again," Dean straightened up, wiping away the last of his tears and trying to look stoic again.

"Dean," Sam looked him straight in the eye, not taking any of his nonsense.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Dean grumbled. He tried to look mad at me, but it came off as more pouting than anything, especially when he sneaked a quick rub at his rear when Sam glanced towards me.

"All right, you two shake hands or hug or whatever you do to make up and be friends again," I told them, "and then we're going to sleep and putting this whole day behind us."

They approached each other awkwardly. Dean put his hand out for Sam to shake, but Sam reached out his own arm to hug his brother. They ended up first shaking hands and then kind of hugging while clapping each other on the back. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Poor John must have been exhausted after raising the two of them.

"Now, go to bed," I told them.

Sam took a deep breath. I think the hug about did him in – between the stress of the last few days and their fight and their punishment, he looked worn out. But he said, "What about the TV?"

I looked down at it all broken and sighed. "I'll take care of it in the morning. I can pay for it, and you boys can come to my house sometime and work it off."

"Really?" Sam asked, surprised at such a suggestion.

"Yeah, it's an old house, and it needs fixing up pretty often. Dean can do some of that, and you can help him or help categorize my books. I got a ton of them that need sorting."

Sam glanced at Dean, and Dean nodded, obviously thinking that was a good idea.

"Go to bed," I repeated.

"We can't," Dean said, thought rather quietly. "They didn't bring a cot up."

"Take the extra pillows," I nodded to the ones piled up, "and put them in between the big bed in the middle. That way, you can each have a side, and you won't kick each other in the night."

Sam reached for the pillows, but Dean shook his head.

"We're too old to sleep in the same bed," he said adamantly.

"Dean, come on," Sam urged. "Just do it."

"But –"

"Look," Sam whispered, as if I couldn't hear standing right there, "we already got yelled at and spanked. Just do what he says."

Dean's face flushed, but he grabbed two pillows. "You stay on your side, or I'll kick you out of the bed," he threatened Sam.

I moved out of the way, hoping they could settle this without any more arguing. I knew that the whole Dean sharing his feelings was over, and he would turn back into the smart-mouth we all knew and loved.

"Making us share a bed," Dean grumbled as they lined the pillows up on the middle of the bed. "Who does he think he is?"

"Dude," Sam said pointedly, "don't you ever learn anything?"

"Don't start with me," Dean warned. "Hey, your side's bigger."

"I'm taller," Sam said, a little smugly.

"Yeah, that's height, not width," Dean retorted. "Put them in the middle."

"Who's the baby now?" Sam muttered as he scooted the pillows over a few inches.

"You heard that?" Dean scowled.

"Dude, everyone probably heard that. You were yelling pretty loud," Sam smirked, looking very pleased with himself.

"Least I wasn't crying all over the place," Dean retorted.

"That's what you're supposed to do with you get punished like that," Sam said, refusing to get upset. "He went longer on you because you clammed up. Big mistake."

"Whatever," Dean sat down on his side of the bed, and from the corner of my eye, I saw him wince.

Sam laughed lightly, and Dean glared at him.

"Dude, you say a word of this to anyone . . ." Dean let the threat hang in the air.

"Who am I going to tell?" Sam asked bluntly. "We don't know anyone else."

"Yeah, right," Dean rolled over, trying to get comfortable, "next case we get, instead of hugging frat boys, you'll be sharing experiences – 'Oh, the other day, me and my brother got smacked with a belt so we understand how it feels to be in pain'."

"Do you ever shut up?" Sam asked.

"Apparently not," Dean rolled over onto his stomach. "Are you getting in or not?"

"I'm kind of sore," Sam said in a low voice, suddenly looking embarrassed.

"You are such a pansy," Dean groaned, hugging the pillow under his head. "You got the easier punishment. Get in and stop whining."

Sam huffed, but then he eased down on the bed and immediately rolled on his side, facing his brother.

I didn't know exactly what to do. I thought about standing over their bed and being all "Let that be a lesson to you," but that seemed like overkill, especially since they had done what I asked. But I hated to go to sleep without another word, because that would make everything uncomfortable in the morning when we said goodbye. So I made a big show of going to get my own overnight bag which was beside the smaller bed.

I picked it up and then turned to them to say, "All right, lights out. And no more arguing."

I snapped the overhead light off, leaving the light from the bathroom door to cast the room in a dull glow.

"Night, boys," I said as I headed for the bathroom.

"Night, Bobby," Sam answered immediately.

"Yeah," Dean echoed.

I went into the bathroom, looking forward to taking a hot shower. But I kept the door open a crack so I could hear them while I brushed my teeth and shaved.

"What got into him?" Sam whispered.

"How should I know?" Dean said grumpily, sounding like his face was smushed into his pillow. "I think he hung around Dad too much."

"He wasn't like Dad," Sam protested, careful to keep his voice at a hush. "Dad was, you know, different. Bobby was trying to help us out, not punish us so much as get us to talk."

"Well, I like talking that's less painful," Dean said.

"We were fighting a lot," Sam admitted with a sigh. "You think it'll be better now?"

"How should I know? You'll probably run off again."

"And you'll keep rushing into action and hitting on slutty girls," Sam replied.

"Dad never had a problem with me and girls," Dean told him.

"Did you hit on girls in front of him?"

"No, but –"

"Did you talk about sex with him?"

"No, of course not."

"Did you make out with a girl in front of him?"

"No, how sick are you?"

"Well, then Dad never saw the real sleaze-ball in you, did he?" Sam said, sounding pleased that he won that part of the argument.

Dean snorted, probably unable to think of a good comeback. "Fine. But now we have this whole working at Bobby's house to pay him back."

"So what?" Sam retorted. "We usually have time in between jobs. We stop at his house for a weekend and helped out. Really, dude, how selfish are you? The man's done a lot for us."

"Kind of wish he didn't do so much," Dean said, still sounding grouchy. "I just hope he doesn't take this new 'Uncle Bobby' attitude too far."

"'Uncle Bobby'?" Sam asked skeptically.

"That's how I'm going to think of him," Dean replied. "It'll be easier tomorrow to remember that I got punished by my Uncle Bobby than to think that Dad's friend who I now considered our friend just belted us."

"I guess," Sam said thoughtfully. "It does sound better."

"Good. What else is it going to take to get you to shut up and go to sleep."

"I don't know," Sam replied snidely. "Ask 'Uncle Bobby' to come out and tell us a story. Or sing us a song."

"I'll smother you with this pillow," Dean told him.

"Go ahead and try," Sam laughed. "I'll kick you out of this bed."

Afraid they just might do that and earn us another complaint on the telephone, I stepped out of the bathroom. Immediately, I saw both of them flop down on the pillows, eyes shut. They began breathing slowly, as if they had been asleep for an hour.

I hid my smile as I said sternly, "Boys, stop talking."

Sam nodded guiltily, but Dean cracked one eye open and shut it without a word.

I went back into the bathroom.

"You almost got us into more trouble," Sam whispered.

"You were the one talking," Dean replied, sleepily.

"Jerk." Sam accused.

"Bitch," Dean mumbled.

"Sometimes I'd like to run away for good," Sam huffed.

"I'd find you and drag back to Uncle Bobby to get your hide tanned," Dean muttered. "Now be quiet."

There was silence for a few seconds. Then Sam whispered,

"I think Dad would be glad that we called Bobby."

Dean grunted his half-approval.

"I mean, he can't replace Dad, but it's nice to have someone to talk to like that. Not Dad really ever let us talk. He was more 'Do what I say.' Not that I'm blaming him for all that, but – ow! Dean, that was my foot!"

"And I'll kick it again if you don't shut up," Dean growled.

"Boys!" I warned from inside the bathroom.

And they fell silent.

After taking a shower, I went back into the dark room. They were sound-asleep.

Dean had his face crushed into his pillow, one arm flopped over the edge of the bed as he snored softly. Sam slept on his side, hugging the covers tightly.

And I didn't hear another peep out of them for the rest of the night.

The End