Set early on in season 2 when Dean despatched all things supernatural a little too enthusiastically for Sam's liking. Containsspanking of an adult. I am aware that this may offend some people, particularly if I have written about a favourite fictional character. Please, if you you think you may be offended then this story is not for you.

Disclaimer:Don't own any of the characters. They belong to Eric Kripke, and the CW. No money made.


Hitting bricks by Dinofossil

Sam regained consciousness approximately five minutes after being picked up and launched through the air like a Frisbee. It wasn't the free-flying that did the damage, but the solidly built brick wall he'd been spectacularly slammed against, that and the small but important detail that heads nearly always came out the losers when battered against immovable objects.

As his short circuited brain worked hard to re-boot the severed connections, his locked muscles involuntarily twitched to free themselves, and his deadened senses started their slow journey of returning him back to the land of the living.

The sensation of feeling was the first to make a painful return, and with a low sickly moan he tentatively reached up to feel his head and make sure it was still attached to his body. Surprised but relieved to find it there, he delicately worked through the damp bloody clumps of tangled hair until his fingers found a golf-ball sized lump he was almost sure hadn't been there before. 'It feels like I've been hit by a brick', he thought groggily, but changed his mind as the memories of his last few waking seconds came rushing back. 'Actually, I think it was me that hit a brick'.

Next to return was his hearing, as a deafening 'KABOOM' reverberated excruciatingly around his inner ears, and a powdery cloud of tiny shards of rock-salt showered around him. He lay waiting, knowing there was still a 'sonofabitch' with his name on it about to come his way.

"Sonofabitch! " It wasn't long before the piercing cry reached him from across the room.

He slowly turned his head in the direction of the panicked voice, and opened his lead-weighted eyes for the final sense of sight to return. The blurred images cleared just in time to see Dean sacrificing safety in favour of speed, as he alarmingly careered towards him in an uncontrolled running slide. For the second time that day the air was violently forced out of him with a loud 'Oomph!', as his brother came to a crashing halt on the floor beside him.

"Sam, Sammy, speak to me. Are you okay?" Straining his eyes, Dean leant heavily over him to see better in the shadowy light, and recoiled with surprise when an angry jet of warm air hissed 'geroffme' into his startled face.

To a murmured 'Oops, sorry', the pressure on Sam's chest eased and he gratefully gulped the air to re-inflate his flattened lungs for the third annoying time. He wondered whether to laugh, cry, or try a combination of the two, but managed neither when a series of small yelps burst painfully from his lips as he felt Dean exploring his body for injuries.

"Tell me if it hurts anywhere, Sam?" he asked, pressing firmly with fingers that felt like rod-iron.

"It feels like you're firing in rivets, so yeah, it hurts everywhere you press. Maybe if you didn't use quite so much force, it wouldn't hurt at all." Sam suggested through clenched teeth.

Ignoring his brother, Dean continued with his thorough inspection, and moved up to Sam's head where he found the bloody patch and sizable lump imprinted with a texture he was sure was rough brick. "Thank God you hit the wall with your head and not something important," he joked, but the fear of knowing Sam had been knocked unconscious robbed all humour from his voice.

Growing uncomfortably cold on the hard concrete floor, Sam cautiously sat up as his brother gently supported him from behind. Everything seemed to be in working order, and apart from the early signs that he was developing the daddy of all headaches; he actually felt better than he knew he deserved.

Cautiously he got to his feet, but as he straightened out his tall frame he wobbled precariously, and his hands shot out to uselessly grab at air. It wasn't that he was overcome with dizziness; it was because Dean was so close behind him shadowing his every move, that he almost succeeded in tripping him up.

"Whoa…, easy, you're still a bit shaky," Dean observed innocently. "Good job I'm here to catch you." Tucking a steadying arm under Sam's armpit, he slowly walked him to the door. "C'mon, let's get outta here."


Both brothers spent a long and uncomfortable night back at the motel. The younger Winchester would have enjoyed a more restful sleep had it not been for the frequent visits of the older one keeping a watching vigil. For what began as an occasional and comforting palm laid gently on his chest, finished off by being as subtle as an industrial press, as his sleep deprived brother became heavier handed with each visit.

So it was late morning by the time there were any further signs of life in the room. Stirring first, Dean tried to stretch the weariness from his body before messily pushing the covers on his bed down with his legs. Getting out of bed, he shuffled his feet sleepily over to Sam and stooped over him to check his wound.

"Well, looks like none of your brain leaked out in the night, so that's good" he said with a noisy yawn. "Go grab a shower, Sam, because I've got some things I want to discuss with you when you're properly awake."

Dean's yawn was infectious. Copying him with an even wider yawn of his own, Sam nodded drowsily, and with his eyes still tightly closed, rolled out of bed and felt his way towards the bathroom.

Within the hour both boys were dressed and ready to face their day. Sam had already guessed that Dean would want to talk to him about his actions the previous evening, and he'd spent the first ten minutes of his shower trying to anticipate the argument, before loftily concluding he'd done absolutely nothing wrong. That was the theory anyway.

Now watching his unusually quiet brother as he sat reading yesterdays newspaper, he didn't feel quite so sure of himself. Dean was already playing his older brother 'trump card' and throwing occasional disapproving looks in his direction. With growing dismay, Sam wondered if all his earlier confidence had been washed off and drained away by his shower.

Finally Dean got up from the table and casually wandered over to where Sam was sitting on the bed. His mood seemed to have mellowed momentarily, and he softly squeezed Sam's shoulder and lightly smiled at him, before sinking on the bed opposite. "How're you feeling? Because if you're okay, we should talk about your little escapade yesterday."

Still on 'high alert', Sam shifted uncomfortably and studied his brother searching for warning signs. "My head's okay," he answered carefully, "but, umm…, I'm…, I'm still kinda traumatised by the whole thing, y'know. Maybe I'll feel more like talking tomorrow, or the day after."

"Quit stalling, Sam," Dean responded suddenly switching from mellow to moody. "You want to know what real trauma is? It's discovering you missing. Finding you unconscious and bleeding on the floor. Seeing a rabid spirit about to rip your head off. Knowing if I'd been a minute longer you'd be dead. What possessed you to do something so stupid?"

He stopped for a moment and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "I mean, assuming you weren't actually possessed…, by the dummy demon. Cos that would explain things."

Sam pulled an irritated face at him, but wondered how rational he was going to sound explaining that he'd left the safety of his brother's side, based on what he now knew was misguided instinct, an error of judgement, or whatever else he cared to call it. It'd seemed a reasonable thing to do at the time, but with the benefit of hindsight….

"Look, I don't expect you to understand," he said quietly, "but I had this…, err…, strong feeling the spirit needed our help. My instincts have been right before, so while you were all 'shoot to kill', I thought I'd go find it alone, and, well…, see what it wanted."

Dean's head snapped up, and his eyes widened in disbelief. "You did what? Please, tell me, you didn't put yourself in danger because your womanly intuition told you some spirit wanted help."

Without thinking, Sam unconsciously nodded his head. Yep, strip it bare of all the ribbons and bows he'd dressed it up in, and that's exactly what you'd be left with. But he also believed he was right to keep trusting his instincts, and he refused to back down on this point.

"See, I knew you wouldn't understand. You're not exactly sympathetic where spirits are concerned," he snarled with newly found confidence.

"You're wrong, I can be just as sympathetic as you" Dean protested unconvincingly.

"Oh, really?" Sam huffed. "Let's just check the list of things you're happy to tolerate then, shall we?"

Taking an imaginary piece of paper from his pocket, he made a big show of pretending to study it closely. "Hmm…, sympathy with spirits, yeah, here it is…, right between your tolerance of savage rodents and girls with hairy armpits."

Dean's lips twitched as he fought back the denial that so desperately wanted to escape. If he was expecting Sam to open up, then he needed to start by being honest himself first. "Okay, I admit spirits aren't up there on my favourites list …or rats," he quickly added shivering violently. "But seriously, Sam, are you crazy? Why didn't you come talk to me, we could've worked something out?"

"You're kidding, right?" Sam said thinking of Dean's recent 'slice em and dice em' approach to hunting. "For the last few weeks you've been unpredictable, unapproachable and completely out of control, you're like…, like Satan's pit-bull."

Although clearly outraged by the insult, Dean's glare disappeared and he dropped his shoulders with a resigned sigh.

"Look, I don't want to fall out with you over this. It's just that our lives are dangerous enough without you needlessly putting yourself in harms way, so promise me you won't do anything so stupid again, and we can forget the whole thing."

Still believing he was right, and unwilling to take orders from his brother, Sam shook his head and gave a firm "No".

Dean stared at him incredulously. "Goodbye dumb, hello dumber. I've just talked about you not putting yourself in harms way? Well this would definitely be one of those times, Sam. Make the damn promise and walk away."

"No, and you can't make me bec…" Sam never got to finish what he was about to say, as his words were whisked away by the force of Dean grabbing him and pulling him over his lap in one surprising movement.

"Right, I seem to remember whenever dad had to beat your stubborn little ass, you couldn't bawl out promises to be good quick enough. Shall we see if that still works?" He grabbed the tops of Sam's jeans and boxers and yanked them down.

Sam struggled in his lap grunting loudly. Forming his free hand into a fist; he wildly flailed it in the air trying desperately to make contact with something solid, preferably his brother. Dodging the arm, Dean grabbed it, pinning it firmly into the small of Sam's back and started swatting his backside with hard noisy slaps.

Denied the ability to physically fight back, Sam exercised his lungs instead. "Whatareyoudoing? No, don't, no, let me go." As the pain in his backside increased, he took a deep breath and turned up the volume. "I'm going to SHOOT YOU …WITH THE DOUBLE-BARREL …NO - WITH THE SAWN-OFF …AT CLOSE RANGE."

Shaking his head, Dean carried on working slowly and steadily, making Sam cringe and squirm with pain as he alternated between his backside and thighs, increasing the force of his slaps until his own palm throbbed. After a while, he threw Sam a life-line by reminding him that a simple little promise was all that was required to make him stop. But after his initial outburst, Sam had retreated into his obstinate red-zone, and was equally determined not to give his brother the satisfaction of a response.

So at the point where he was expecting Sam to crumble, make an emotional pledge to keep himself safe, wrap him in an apologetic and grateful hug, and share wry smiles with him over breakfast, there was a big gaping nothing. He realised he hadn't considered that Sam's capacity for stubbornness might have increased in direct proportion to his size, and it worried him. Sam was going to be monumentally pissed with him if this ended without a proper resolution.

With his frustration levels rapidly rising at the lack of progress, Dean could feel the warning signs of a temper starting to appear. The last thing he wanted was to act in anger, and he shrugged his shoulders a few times and rocked his head from side to side to try and relieve some of his tension. Feeling slightly more relaxed, he quickly dispelled any remaining traces with a mini goofing session behind Sam's back, baring his teeth at the back of his head, and carrying out a surprisingly therapeutic mock mid-air strangulation. He felt much better.

Sensing the strange movement behind him, Sam twisted his head round in time to catch the end of Dean's childish performance, and blew out an exasperated puff of air with dramatically rolled eyes. Despite himself, there was also the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes when they connected with his brother, forcing him out of the stubborn mood he'd doggedly trapped himself inside.

Encouraged by the small connection, Dean instantly pounced on it, and tried a new approach. "Okay, Sam. I take it from your silence that you don't agree with me, so I'm going to give you the chance to prove me wrong. How about I ask you some questions? If I'm wrong you're off the hook, but every time I'm right and you give me a yes, I get to give you a slap."

"Unbelievable," Sam grumped "I'm not playing your stupid games; just get the punishment over with, will you."

Undeterred, Dean ignored him and started his series of questions, deliberately starting with one he was sure Sam would have to answer.

"You do know that I love you?"

Sam lay over his lap seething, knowing the question was deliberately loaded. Although he was currently at the painful end of a warped interpretation of 'tough love', he had absolutely no doubts that his brother loved him, and yes, Dean was right, there was no way he could ignore the question.

Gripping Dean's calves tightly, he squeezed out a "yes," closely followed by the first "Ow," as the threatened slap landed heavily on his tender backside.

"And you know you can trust me, right?"

Again, this was an answer that he didn't have to think about. Of course he trusted his brother; he trusted him with his life.

"Right, I mean yes." Sam quickly corrected, displaying remarkable fairness, but a really dreadful sense of self-preservation as he sounded out another loud yelp.

"And you're aware I sometimes have to tell you things to try and keep you safe?"

Sam thought carefully about this one, and although at times it did feel as though Dean enjoyed playing the bossy older brother, he knew he only did it when completely necessary. He felt his face burn with shame as he braced himself to choke out another "Yes."

"And you know that despite your good intentions, you sometimes put yourself in danger? And it just about breaks my heart when you do."

"Yes, Ouch! I'm sorry" Sam was openly crying now, realising that this had nothing to do with making the stupid promise. Instead it had everything to do with Dean wanting to protect him, and he couldn't fault him for that.

"Have I ever turned you away when you've needed to talk?"

"No." Sam sniffed, puzzled but relieved to get a 'no' question. But his relief was cut short by a loud 'tut' behind him, as Dean realised he'd unintentionally short changed himself.

"Um…, that one actually came out wrong, Sam, I'll try it again. You do know you can come and talk to me about anything?"

"I hate you Dean. …Yes, OW"

"So you admit not coming to me was wrong?"

"Yes. P-please, n-no more."

"And if you get any more urges to whisper to ghosts, you'll come talk to me first? Because if you don't I'll be doing some more ass whispering." Dean held his breath waiting for the answer, nodding with relief when it came.

"Yes, I promise."

"Okay, Sam, we got there eventually, but there's just one last thing to deal with."

Dean still smarted from Sam's earlier jibe, so with his younger brother more compliant, he believed there was a good chance of getting the apology he felt he was owed. "I seem to remember you calling me Satan's pit-bull. So before I let you go, is there anything you feel you want to say to me?"

"Yeah…," Sam grunted. "Bad puppy."

With a fond smile, Dean gave him a final light slap, and reached down to rub his back for a few moments before helping him up. "C'mon trouble, up you get, we've still got a grateful and apologetic hug and few wry smiles to get through before breakfast, and I'm hungry."

The End