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SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL

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Aug. 4th, 2008 | 06:44 pm
mood: productive

Title:  Sympathy for the Devil
Author:  Lady_M
Characters: John, Dean (8), Sammy (4).
Scenario: wee!chesters
Implement:  Hand (John spanks Sammy, John spanks Dean, Dean spanks Sammy)
Summary:  Minx’s Summer Challenge 2008 Prompt #48chewing gum, temper, training.
Rating:  PG-13 for spanking and swearing.
Warning:  Parental spanking of minors.  Please don't read if it offends you.
Disclaimer:  Eric Kripke and the CW own all.  I own nothing.
Author's Note: 
Previously posted as part of Minx's Summer Challenge.  Finally posting on own lj.


John Winchester cautiously pushes the front door closed behind him with the barrel of the shotgun he's holding in his right hand.  Something is up with his two boys.  He can feel it. Every light in the house is turned on.  It's 6:00pm.  He's arrived home earlier than expected. Either something is amiss or his two young sons are up to something.  A good butt warming may be in order to re-establish the basic house rules.

 

Dean runs to his father.  He embraces his dad around his muscular thighs.

 

"Dad, you’re home!"

 

"What's wrong, Dean?  Where's your brother?"

 

"I locked him in the bedroom. He's possessed," Dean whispers to his father through cupped hands.

 

"Possessed!  Why possessed?"

 

"He's been really naughty, Dad.  He won't go to bed.  He won't take his naps. He stopped eating.  He won't do any of the training you wanted.  He was good for, like, three days, and then he got possessed.”

 

“Go on,” John prompts.

 

“He won't get dressed.  He won't take a bath.  Dad, he smells bad.  You know like when you kill something bad and the guts pour out."

 

"Anything else I should know?"

 

"He stands funny on his toes. Then he gets his pouty, mad face on.  He throws himself on the floor.  You know, like when he has one of his temper tantrums. He won't do anything I tell him.  He's possessed dad,” Dean states logically.

 

"Alright, I'll talk to him.  Give me the key to the room.  You stay down here."

 

*****

 

"Daaaad, Dean spanked my heinie!  Seeeee?  It huuurrrts!"  Sammy slides one side of his Spiderman pajama bottoms down to show his father the damage.

 

John smiles to himself.  There is no sign of Dean taking his brother in hand and spanking his behind.  Four-year-old Sammy can be pretty dramatic when he is chastised.

 

"Dean reported you've been naughty, Samuel.  It’s your turn to report."

 

"No!"  Sam crosses his arms over his chest in defiance and pouts.

 

"No, you weren't naughty or no, you won't report?"

 

"Yes."

 

John rubs his callused palm over the front of his face.  He's tired from ending his last hunt late yesterday evening and driving all day to get home.  He has limited patience to deal with his youngest.  He inhales a long, calming breath.

 

John carries his son over to his bed and sits down.  He positions Sammy so his legs dangle between his thighs.  Dean's right.  The kid needs a bath.

 

"Sammy, why didn’t you follow your brother’s orders when I was gone?"

 

"Dean's bossy."

 

"Sammy, you know Dean is in charge when I'm not here."

 

"I’m in charge,"  Sammy states proudly as he pounds his fist on his chest.

 

"Dean is the oldest.  He is second in command when I’m gone. You know that."

 

"No!" Sam slides off his father's lap and throws himself on the floor.  His arms and feet kick and punch the floor.

 

"Samuel, I do not tolerate this behavior. Stop this right now or you'll really have a sore heinie to show off."

 

Sam continues flailing on the floor.

 

"Dad? I brought the holy water," Dean calls from the doorway.

 

"Dean, your brother's not possessed.  He's misbehaving.  Go wait downstairs."

 

Dean runs quickly into the room.  He sprinkles holy water on his brother and scoots back out before his father realizes what he is doing.

 

Well, at least there's no smoke.  Just a kid getting too big for his britches, John muses. "Alright, I've tried to reason with you, young man. You have until the count of three to stop this crap and get up here."

 

"One...Two..."

 

Sammy stills from exhaustion more than from the looming threat of a sore bottom.  He takes a deep breath and resumes his tantrum.

 

"Three."

 

With determination, John grapples with the flailing child until he has Sammy off the floor.  He positions him over his lap, the squirming butt balanced for a few swats.  John knows reasoning with a child in mid-tantrum is useless.  He needs to get his son's attention.  He lands four sharp, stinging swats to Sam's tender bottom.  After the second swat Sammy lets out a piercing death wail.    

 

John lifts his youngest off his lap.  He places him against his chest so his head rests on his shoulder.  John pats Sammy's back as the child gasps and cries.  John waits for Sammy to settle down, knowing the dramatics should end soon.  He knows four swats to the bottom are not harsh.  They’re just an attention getter.  Hell, his own father used his belt as an attention getter.

 

"Sammy, are you ready to talk to me?  Sammy?"  John prods.

 

The worn out body of Sammy Winchester sleeps soundly on his father's shoulder.

 

"Alright, kiddo, Dean said you weren't sleeping.  Maybe a little nap will do you some good."  John places Sammy on his stomach in the middle of his mattress.  He tucks him in with the quilt from the bottom of the bed.  John closes the bedroom door on his way to the kitchen.      

 

***** 

 

The tired hunter reaches for a cold beer in the refrigerator.  He realizes almost all the food he left the boys is untouched.

 

"Dean.  Come here."

 

"Is Sammy okay?"

 

"He's fine.  He's napping."

 

"You exercised the demon?"

 

"It's exorcise, and he wasn't possessed.  What have you boys been eating while I was gone?  All the vegetables and salad stuff I left you are still in here."

 

"We had grilled cheese sandwiches n’ some left over pizza.  And I made instant pancake mix with water.  But, Sammy stopped eating."

 

"You didn't drink any of the juice?"

 

Dean shrugs his shoulders.

 

"Have you eaten anything tonight?"

 

Dean shrugs his shoulders, again.

 

"I’ll fix something. You should eat before bed. Set the table, son."

 

*****

 

"Sammy, time to get up," John rubs Sammy's back gently to wake him.

 

Sammy blinks his eyes open with a blank stare.

 

"You hungry, kiddo?"

 

"My tummy hurts," Sammy informs him sadly.

 

John lifts Sam from under the quilt and sits him in his lap.

 

"Show me where it hurts?"

 

Sammy rubs his lower abdomen with a sad face.

 

"Okay, champ," John wraps his huge arm around the youngster's shoulder.  He snuggles Sammy in close to his chest.  He rubs his back to comfort the child.  John runs his hand over Sammy's unruly locks.  "Sammy, what’s in your hair?"

 

"I dunno.  Where's Dean?"  Sammy squirms to get away from his father's firm hold.

 

"You've got chewing gum in your hair.  How did you get gum in your hair?"  John asks sternly.

 

"Deeeeean!"  Sammy yells for help.

 

"What!"  Dean responds sharply.

 

"Dean, did you give your brother chewing gum?"  John asks accusatorially.

 

"No, Dad.  He always swallows it."  Dean cups his hands over his mouth, "I keep it hidden."

 

"Check your stash, kiddo.  I bet there's some missing.  I also have a pretty good idea why somebody has a belly ache."

 

John lifts Sammy off his lap and sits him on the bed next to him.  Sammy turns over to lie on his stomach.

 

"Dean, stay with your brother.  I'll be right back."  John leaves the boys alone.

 

Dean scurries to the dresser the boys share.  He looks over his shoulder to see if Sammy is watching him.  Sammy's eyes are fixed on the open door.  Dean opens his bottom drawer.  He had ten assorted packs of gum tucked under his underwear and T-shirts.  He now has two.

 

"SAMMY!  You ate all my gum!"  Dean runs to his outstretched brother.  He places his left hand on the small of Sammy's back to pin him in place.  He applies a number of stinging swats to the thief's upturned bottom.

 

"OWWW!  DEEEAAN!"  Sammy wails.

 

"DEAN!  Stop that," John orders from the doorway.

 

"Sammy stole all my gum," Dean whines.

 

"And he’ll be punished for that.  What is the rule about spanking Sammy?"

 

"No spanking Sammy when you're home," Dean hangs his head.

 

"And?" John prompts.

 

"I spank Sammy, you spank me," Dean confesses softly.

 

"Go wait for me downstairs.  Plant yourself on the couch.  No TV," John orders.

 

Dean runs out of the room with tears in his eyes.

 

John places the bowl of warm water, the blue syringe and the petroleum jelly on the night table next to Sammy's bed.  He takes the towel he's carrying off his shoulder and lays it on the mattress.

 

"Sammy, do you trust me to help your tummy feel better?"  John asks as he closes the bedroom door.

 

*****

 

"Is Sammy okay?"  Dean questions.

 

"He'll be fine.  He's logging some corner time to think about his behavior."

 

"No demons?"

 

"No.  He was out of sorts because of what he's been eating."

 

"My gum?"

 

"That and not eating the food I left you.  He was constipated."

 

"Constated?"

 

"Constipated, he couldn't poop.  It made him cranky," John explains as he takes a seat on the couch next to Dean.  "How's that cast iron stomach of yours?" John pats Dean on his thigh.

 

"I'm good," Dean pats his belly.

 

"Kiddo, we need to talk about what happened before.  I expect you had a tough week with your little brother.  But you know you're not supposed to spank Sammy when I'm home.  You lost your temper with him."  John suspects being the authority figure and the big brother this week was probably rough on his oldest.

     

"He ate all my gum!"  Dean exclaims.

 

"I know he did, but you have to learn to control your temper," John counsels calmly.

 

"Are you going to spank me?"  Dean mumbles as he rests his chin on his chest.

 

"You know the rule.  What do you think I should do?" 

 

"Not spank me," Dean looks up at his father, flashing him his most charming ear-to-ear grin.

 

"Dean?"

 

"Yes, sir.  I broke the rule," Dean responds sullenly, dropping his head back down.

 

"Let's get this over with.  You want me to help you?"

 

"No, sir."  Dean slides off the couch.  He stands next to his father's sturdy thigh.  He starts to slide his pajama pants down, preparing for the impending spanking.

 

"Pants can stay," John grabs Dean's wrists to stop his motion.  He lifts Dean under the arms.  He guides his son over his lap so his butt sits prominently over his right thigh.

 

"Are you ready for your spanking, Dean?"  John asks.

 

Dean grips the couch cushion with his fists and nods yes.

 

John quickly applies eight stinging swats to his eldest’s bottom.  "We're done here," John informs the surprised Dean. 

 

The spanking is over before Dean realizes.  John lifts Dean to stand between his knees.  Dean reaches back to rub his stinging butt.  The spanking was quick but meaningful.  Tears fill his eyes.

 

"Are you okay, kiddo?"  John asks gently.

 

Dean throws himself into his father's chest for comfort.  John wraps his huge arms around Dean's shaking form.  Dean's butt is sore, but the guilt he has from spanking his brother drives his tears.

 

"M hbg nm h nhg Smmy," Dean babbles into his father’s chest.

 

"Come again?"  John leans away from Dean so he's not mumbling into his shirt front.

 

Dean takes a deep breath.  "I didn't mean to hurt Sammy, Daddy.  I didn't."  He buries his head back against his father.

 

Dean's head bobs limply as John lifts his son to sit on his lap.  "Dean it's okay.  You gave your brother a couple of swats.  You didn't really hurt him.  Although, I'm sure he’ll tell it differently."

 

Dean snorts at John's last comment, "Yeah, near death torture."

 

"When I'm not home, you're in charge.  I trust you to use good judgment, especially where your little brother is concerned.  I know he can be a bit of a challenge at times, but you need to control your temper, no matter how angry you get.  When I am home, you need to come to me when Sammy is being naughty and I will take care of it.  So, do we understand each other?" 

 

Dean nods his understanding.  "Is Sammy still in trouble?"

 

"Sammy and I will have a talk before bedtime."

 

"Nuh uh!"  Sammy stands on the last step, rubbing his small bottom.  "No more talking!"  He crosses his arms over his chest in defiance.

 

"Samuel, I sent you to the corner."

 

"All dun," Sammy proclaims happily, stretching his arms out wide.

 

"You're done when I say you're done and not before.  Dean, check on the food.  I need to nip this attitude in the bud."

 

John reaches his defiant youngest in two strides.  He lifts him in one swoop and tosses Sammy over his shoulder.  John ascends the staircase, balancing his squirming bundle.

 

"DOWN!"  Sammy yells.

 

"Not yet, kiddo," John pats Sammy's butt cheeks with his free palm.  He marches into the boys' bedroom, closing the door behind him.

 

John sits down on Dean's bed.  He maneuvers Sammy off his shoulder to stand between his thighs.  He raises Sammy's chin so they are looking eye to eye. 

 

"Sammy, you were naughty not following your brother's orders.  You're still being naughty not following my orders.  I thought corner time would do you some good but maybe what you need is a sore bottom."

 

"No spankin!"  Sammy states matter-of-factly as he stamps his foot and head butts his father.

 

John dodges the head butt.  He turns his son to face his left leg.  He quickly drapes the child over his thigh.  Sammy's feet dangle between his father's legs.  John lands two firm swats to the center of the youngster’s buttocks.

 

"Yeowwhhh!"  Sammy cries out in a mixture of pain and anger.  His small body tenses.

 

John applies two more swats, leaving large pink handprints on Sammy's sensitive sit spots. 

 

Sammy struggles, but his folded position over his father's thigh offers no leverage.

 

"Samuel, settle down."  John plants two firm, loud cracks to his child's behind.

 

Sammy gasps for air.  His body goes limp.  He forgets his anger.  He focuses on the sting his father has ignited in his butt.

 

"Daddy, I'm sor-wee," Sammy admits.

 

"Okay, kiddo we're done," John lifts Sammy off his leg and cradles him in his arms.  He rubs his son's back and snuggles him into his chest.

 

Sammy's stiff body cries softly into his father's flannel shirt.  John embraces his baby tightly.  Sammy takes in two deep gasps of air.  He relaxes in his father's embrace.

 

"Tell me why you're sorry, champ."

 

Sammy hiccups once.  "I didn't follow orders."

 

"That's right." John rubs the back of Sammy's head.  His fingers get stuck in a wad of hair and chewing gum. "What else?"  John prompts.  

 

"I took Dean's gum.  Is he mad?"  Sammy turns a tear-streaked, angelic face towards his father.

 

"If you tell him you're sorry and promise not to do it again, I think Dean will forgive you," John encourages.

 

" 'kay," Sammy grins and settles into his daddy's lap.

 

"Hey, are we going to eat?  I'm hungry," Dean yells from outside the closed door.

 

"You can come in Dean," John advises his starving youngster.

 

Dean peaks his head around the door. "Is Sammy okay?"

 

"Sammy, do you have something you want to say to your brother?"  John slides Sammy off his lap to stand on the floor facing his brother.

 

" 'm sorry I ate your gum," Sammy gives Dean his most pathetic look.  It’s the look that melts his older brother to his core.

 

"Sure, squirt.  Just stay out of my stuff."  Dean looks at his father.  "Nooow can we eat?"  Dean asks, exasperated.

 

"Sammy, are you hungry?" John asks.

 

"Yeah!"

 

"Okay boys, let’s get some food into you.  And then, baths all around.  Tomorrow morning, you boys get back to your training routine.  Sammy, we're going to have to cut that chewing gum out of your hair."

 

Sammy grabs his head with his two small hands, "Hurt?"

 

"No, Sammy, it won't hurt," John reassures.

 

"I'll do it, Dad," Dean offers with a smirk.

 

"Thanks, son, but I'll handle the scissors.  Remember what happened the last time you thought Sammy needed a hair cut?"

 

"I couldn't sit for two days," Dean scoffs.

 

"And it was well deserved, mister."

 

"I was seven, Daaad,"

 

"Yeah and you're so much older now at eight."

 

"I could do it," Dean insists.

 

"No cutting your brother's hair, ever, either of you.  That's an order," John emphasizes by pointing a finger at each son."

 

"Yes, sir," the two boys nod in agreement.

 

"Let's hit the kitchen." John grabs both boys around their waists and lifts them to his chest in unison.

 

Even with the turmoil of the last couple of hours, John relishes the time he has with his sons.  He knows soon enough he’ll be preparing to hunt the next evil that surfaces.  He wonders which is more of a challenge; hunting or raising these Winchester brothers.

 

THE END 
 

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