Title: Tears Before Bedtime
Characters: John, Dean (10), Sam (6)
Scenario: wee!chester, discipline fic
Summary: An occasion in childhood when Sam and Dean didn't behave themselves.
Warnings: Parental spanking of minors.
John Winchester put down the ancient text he was reading with an exasperated sigh. He had already had to go into the bedroom that the boys were sharing twice already in the last half hour.
The first time, they had been talking and giggling – well, actually, Dean had been laughing and Sam had been giggling. John had to admit that Dean was right when he teased his younger brother about having a very girly giggle. On the second occasion, they'd been having a pillow fight. And from the sounds coming from the room now, it sounded like they were rearranging the furniture!
John strode down the hall and flung open the bedroom door. Two startled faces looked up at him. Dean had Sam pinned beneath him on the floor between the two beds. It was obviously a friendly wrestling match, otherwise John had no doubt that his youngest would have been yelling blue murder for his dad to come and rescue him.
On seeing his father in the doorway, Dean immediately let go of Sam and scrambled up, standing at attention. Sam however seemed content to lie on the floor, so John bent down and lifted the small boy before setting him gently on his feet next to his brother. He then stepped back and surveyed his children with a stern expression on his face.
"Have I or have I not told you two to go to sleep twice already?"
As expected, it was Dean who answered. "Yes sir, you have." The boy's voice was steady, but he was staring at the carpet beneath his feet, not wanting to meet his father's stern gaze.
"This is your last warning. Now into bed you two. If I have to come in again, you'll both be going to sleep with sore bottoms. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," replied Dean immediately, clambering quickly into bed as instructed.
Sam remained standing where he was. "But I'm not tired, Daddy," he whined.
"I don't care if you're not tired," replied John gruffly, picking up the six-year-old and placing him in his bed before tucking the covers around him snuggly. "It's well past your bedtime, so you have to go to sleep. Daddy's trying to do some important work for his job and you two are disturbing me."
John switched off the light and exited the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He was extremely grateful that he didn't have this problem every night! Sam's bedtime was an hour and a half before Dean's, so usually the little boy was fast asleep by the time his big brother came up to bed and Dean was always exceedingly careful not to wake his baby brother. This evening however, Sam had left his toy box in the middle of the floor and Dean had tripped over it when he had tried to get into bed without turning on the light as the ten-year-old usually did, so that the sudden glare wouldn't wake his sibling. Unfortunately, the sound of Dean crashing to the floor had awoken the six-year-old and he had shown no inclination of wanting to go back to sleep again afterwards.
When John's footsteps had faded away down the hall, Sam jumped out of his bed and leapt straight on top of his big brother.
"Ooomph!" muttered Dean as all of the air was forced out of his lungs. "What're you doin', Sammy?" he whispered, "Get back in bed. We're gonna get in trouble."
"Daddy said we were disturbing him, so if we play quietly we won't disturb him and he won't know," whispered Sam back, attempting to pin Dean's arms behind his head, just like Dean had done to him earlier.
"I don't think this is a good idea, Sammy," muttered Dean, trying to extricate himself quietly from his brother's grasp.
"Pleeeeease, Dean," pleaded Sam and Dean knew that if the light was on, then he would see the 'peppy-dog' expression that Sam could conjure up – the one that would make Dean give his little brother the moon if he could.
"Okay," Dean agreed grudgingly, "but we've gotta be really really quiet."
John glanced up at the clock. It had been over twenty minutes since he had had to go in to talk to his boys. He hadn't heard a sound since – surely that meant they had finally gone to sleep?
This assumption was shattered a moment later as an almighty crash came from the bedroom. He made it to the room, just in time to catch his youngest clambering back into bed, obviously planning on pretending he'd never left it.
John switched on the light and took in the scene before him – Dean's bedside cabinet had been tipped over and everything that had been on top of it was now strewn on the floor, including a glass of water which was now soaking quickly into the carpet.
John turned angrily to his eldest knowing that if he wanted to get to the bottom of what had happened, it would be quicker that way. Sam always came up with a myriad of excuses.
Dean sat up in bed. He knew they were screwed. "We were kinda wrestling on my bed, Dad, and either me or Sammy accidentally kicked the cabinet. We didn't mean to knock it over."
"And were you supposed to be wrestling?" John had his arms folded across his chest.
"No, sir," replied Dean softly.
"What were you supposed to be doing?"
"Sleeping. I'm sorry, Dad."
"And now I have no choice but to spank you," said John sternly, moving towards his youngest's bed.
Sam suddenly found his voice. "Please don't spank us, Daddy. We'll be good. We'll go to sleep, we promise! I'm sorry!" The small boy looked at his father pleadingly.
"It's too late, Sammy," John shook his head regretfully, "I gave you and Dean three chances and I told you what would happen."
Whenever John had to spank both of his children, he always spanked Sam first. The sensitive baby of the family always took everything to heart and John had quickly discovered that having to wait for a punishment would reduce him to a snivelling, emotional mess before the first swat was ever delivered. Already, Sam's eyes were filling with tears as he watched his father approach.
When John reached for him, the small boy tried to scramble backwards out of reach, to no avail. Sam quickly found himself seated in his father's lap, rather than flipped over it as he expected. John's arms were hugging tightly and one hand carded gently through his hair.
The child looked up at his father's face. "You're not going to spank me?" he asked hopefully.
"No, Sammy, I am. I just want to make sure before I do, that you know that I love you."
"But I don't want you to," wailed Sam, his face crumpling and the tears already beginning to trickle down his cheeks.
Wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible, John didn't answer and easily flipped the small child face-down over his knee. He then wasted no time beginning to spank the tiny pyjama-clad bottom.
"Oww! I'm Oww! sorry Oww! Daddy…no….Oww!...please…Oww! I'll go to Oww! sleep..Oww!"
Sam owwed after every single swat and squirmed continually, but was unable to escape his father's punishing hand.
John didn't intend this to be a harsh spanking, just an unpleasant reminder that when he said something, he meant it! For a mild spanking such as this, John's aim was to simply intensify the sting enough to bring the child to tears and then add just a few more well-placed swats for good measure. The sting wouldn't last for more than an hour or two. With Dean, this was always easy to measure, as his eldest would indeed resist crying until he couldn't bear the burning pain any longer. With Sam always crying from the get go however, John found it difficult to gauge just how much his youngest was really hurting. With this in mind, he paused in the spanking to grasp the elastic waist band of Sam's pyjamas and underwear and pulled the material away from his skin to check the state of the boy's rear end. Sam's previously creamy white bottom was now a lovely rosy pink and John could feel the heat radiating from it. Satisfied, he decided to wrap up the spanking. Little Sam was shuddering with sobs, though John knew that this was a reaction to being spanked rather than the pain the spanking caused. The hunter tipped the boy slightly further forward to gain better access and administered the last four slightly harder swats direct to his sit-spots.
"Okay, it's all done now, Sammy," he soothed picking the small child up and cuddling him to his chest, "Daddy didn't want to have to do that, but if you're naughty and don't do as you're told, then I will.
John held the boy until his sobs condensed to just sniffles and then he pulled back the covers on the bed and gently lay Sam down on his stomach. He pulled the covers back up over the child and dropped a kiss on the tearstained cheek. "Goodnight, Tiger."
"Night, Daddy," sniffled the chastised six-year-old.
John stood up and studied his eldest for a moment. Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed, studying the hands in his lap intently. He moved over to stand in front of the boy.
"Do you understand why I'm going to spank you, Dean?"
The ten-year-old nodded. "Yes sir. I didn't follow your instructions and I got Sammy into trouble."
John paused – he had been expecting the first half of Dean's reply, not the second. "You didn't get Sammy into trouble, Dean, he got himself into trouble. Why do you think it's your fault?"
"Because I'm supposed to look after him. I knew we'd get into trouble if you found out we weren't in bed, so I should have told him no and made him go to sleep."
John was beginning to wonder if maybe his constant telling of Dean that Sam was his responsibility had been a mistake – sure, he needed Dean to be willing to look after his little brother, but the kid shouldn't feel accountable for all of Sam's choices.
John placed two fingers under Dean's chin and gently tilted his head up so that he could look at him. Two earnest green eyes gazed back.
"Listen to me, Dean, you are responsible for what you choose to do and Sammy is responsible for what Sammy chooses to do. You can try and help your brother make good choices, but ultimately, the decision rests with him. So Sammy earned his own sore bottom. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"
Dean nodded slowly. "I think so."
"Okay then…" John seated himself with a sigh on the end of Dean's bed. He really hated spanking his children. "….so you understand I'm spanking you because you didn't do as you were told and not for any other reason?"
Dean nodded "Yes, sir," and before John could stop him, the child had moved and positioned himself across his lap. John had been intending on sitting his eldest on his knee first, just as he had with his youngest.
He looked down at the nicely-positioned small bottom and ran a tired hand over his stubbled face. It was really late and the boys really needed to get to sleep, not to mention the fact that he had a mountain of research still to do. It was best to get this over with quickly he decided. As a result, when he began to spank, he landed the smacks a lot faster than usual.
Dean tensed as the stinging pain in his backside began to grow and unconsciously clutched at the bedspread. The ten-year-old was convinced that his Dad must be hitting harder than usual, because normally the burn built up gradually. When his father turned his attention to his sit-spots, Dean couldn't help a few muttered "Owwws" escaping and he felt his eyes fill with tears. He bit them back angrily. He wasn't a baby!
Eventually however, Dean could hold the tears back no longer and he gave a quiet hiccoughing sob as the first tears escaped their prison – his closed eyelids – and slipped unwanted down his cheeks. It was the signal that John had been waiting for and he finished the spanking by applying six more slightly harder swats, three to the top of each thigh. He quickly gathered the crying ten-year-old into his arms and settled him gently so that he was sitting in his lap.
"It's over Ace. You're all right," he soothed, allowing the boy to cling to him like a life-line, while he rubbed gentle circles on his back.
Dean kept his head buried in John's shirt as he cried, resisting the urge to move his hands back and rub at the unrelenting sting. That had hurt! However, as the spanking had only been mild, the tears stopped flowing quicker than they did usually after a spanking.
While comforting Dean, John glanced across at his youngest. Sam was now an unmoving lump under the covers. All that could be seen of the little boy was his mass of floppy chocolate hair and the ears of the well-worn teddy bear that he always slept with.
When Dean was only giving the occasional sniffle, he pulled back slightly and looked up, meeting his father's loving gaze.
John gently thumbed away the last of his eldest's tears. "You okay now, Sport? Remember that I love you no matter what."
Dean nodded. "I'm fine, Dad, and I love you too."
John gave the ten-year-old a final squeeze before releasing him. "Right, into bed with you."
The ex-marine pulled back the covers and Dean obediently clambered in, careful to lay down on his stomach. "And I want you to go straight to sleep." John tucked his eldest in and dropped a kiss on the top of his head.
"Yes, sir. Night, Dad." Even though Dean acquiesced, he knew there was no way on this earth that he would be able to go to sleep anytime soon with the intense, unpleasant burning in his backside and upper thighs.
John switched off the light and closed the door behind him.
Dean waited a minute until he was sure that he had given his Dad time to return to the sitting room. He had to make sure that his baby brother was all right – he could still hear an occasional sniffle from the other bed.
"Sammy, are you okay?" he whispered.
"Shush, Dean! Do you want Daddy to spank us again?" came the vexed, loudly whispered reply, "We've got to go to sleep!"
Outside the room, John chuckled quietly to himself. He had deliberately waited to see if they would talk to each other. He was reassured that his two little troublemakers would now stay out of mischief…..well for tonight anyway. He tiptoed back down the hall, intent on continuing his research.