Lady M (lady_m_319) wrote,
Lady M

Midnight Movie Marathon 3/3

Title:  Midnight Movie Marathon

Author:  Lady M

Beta:  Minx999 the Fabulous!  Thank you! 

Characters: John, Dean (8), Sam (4), an appearance by Bobby

Rating:  PG-13 for spanking.

Warning: Parental spanking of minors. Please don't read if it offends you.

Disclaimer:  Eric Kripke and the CW own all.  I own nothing.  I play in their yard because I like their toys.  It’s for fun and entertainment only.  Thank you, Eric and the CW for sharing your toys.

John sits down on the edge of the bed next to Dean, gently rubbing his back to wake him. 


“Dean, your lunch is on the table.” 


With that statement, Dean’s eyes pop open and after a moment to focus, he rouses himself out from under the covers, wincing as he rolls over on his still tender butt.


“Take your sandwich and sit in front of the window on the front porch where I can see you.  I need to have a talk with your brother.”


Dean gives his father an apprehensive look, but before he can verbalize his concerns, his father states, “Not your issue, Dean.  You have your orders.  Move out.” 


Dean makes a bee line for the kitchen and disappears out the front door.


John, still sitting on the edge of the bed, brings his attention across to the other sleeping form.  Sam’s lying on his side with one eye open, focusing on his father.  But as John turns his attention towards Sam, the boy quickly closes both eyes, clenching them tightly shut.


John runs his hand over his face, deciding how to proceed. 


“Sammy, you hungry?” 


John doesn’t really expect Sam is hungry.  But he thinks it’s a way to get a reaction from Sam, and he does.


Sam quickly pulls the covers over his head and squeaks, “No.” 


They remain in silence for a moment.


John asks, “Sammy, how old are you?”


A chubby little hand comes out from under the covers, holding up four fingers while joyfully stating from under the protective layer of blankets, “I’m four.  I’m a big boy.”


“That’s right, Sammy, and as a big boy, you should come out and face me instead of hiding under the covers like a little baby.”


“Not a baby!”


Sam pushes back the blankets, slides off the side of the bed, and stands to face his father. 


John wants to keep this moving forward and immediately points to the floor between his knees. “Samuel, front and center,” he orders.


Seeing Sammy hesitate and look around, John reaches over and grabs a fistful of the front of Sam’s T-shirt and guides him across the short distance.  Letting go of the shirt front, he holds Sam’s wrists with his hands, aware that Sam might try to make another break for it. 


John looks down and sees the bite marks on his own wrist, reminding him of why they were here.  He sternly begins. “Sammy, your behavior was very naughty.  Tell me what you did that was naughty.”


Sammy grows pale and tries to squirm out of his Dad’s grip.  “Samuel, stand still.”  With that John turns Sam to the side and gives him two sharp swats.  “Oww!” Sam yelps. 


“Samuel Winchester, tell me why you’re going to be punished.”


Sam stamps his foot. “No,” he angrily replies.


This earns him two more swats on his small behind.  Sam has gone from his joyful ‘I’m a big boy’ back to his cranky, defiant attitude, which drove him to his current predicament.


John catches a glimpse of a dark shadow out of the corner of his eye, moving around Dean on the porch.  He quickly stands to get a full look at the figure and relaxes when he realizes it is Bobby Singer.


During his father’s moment of distraction, Sammy once again makes a break for it, this time for the front door.  He gets the door open a few inches, but Dad is right behind him.  With one hand John reaches over Sam, slamming the door shut while he grabs the waist band of Sam’s pajama bottoms, tugging them down to expose a target for two thunderous swats. 




John needs to address Sam’s defiance and attitude, so the lecture will have to wait until after the spanking.  He scoops Sam up, avoiding flailing arms and legs.  Ignoring the loud pleads for ‘down’ and ‘stop’, John carries Sam back to his bed, sits down, and positions him over his knees.


Sam wildly struggles, even though the spanking hasn’t even started.  John’s concerned Sam is going to hurt himself with all his flailing.  He pins him close against his stomach, with his left arm over Sam’s back while maneuvering his right leg over Sam’s legs to stop him from kicking.


In an attempt to calm his youngest, he rubs Sam’s back with the hand that will momentarily be warming the upturned bottom presented before him.  The struggles slowly quiet, allowing John to have Sam’s attention.


 “Are you ready for your spanking?” he asks. 


Sam takes in two gasps of air, which re-ignites his struggles to get away.  John decides there isn’t going to be any discussion until after this bottom is sore and rosy and resigns himself to begin.  


With all the fussing, the pajama pants have made their way back up.  John places his index finger in the elastic waist band, drawing them down to the knees. 


He brings the first swat down hard to the center of his son’s clenched butt cheeks, causing Sam to wail loudly.  His youngest arches his back and pushes forward, but is held snuggly in place by his father’s strong grip.  John applies smack after smack to the squirming little bare bottom.  Tears are flowing freely as Sam moves his hands to a protective position, covering his stinging behind.  His father grabs his wrists, pinning them to the small of his back.  John positions his swats up and down and across the buttocks, bringing a rosy tint to the entire surface.  Sammy howls and struggles. 


Although he doesn’t think his son will acknowledge his next statement, he makes it anyway.  “Sammy, the next part of your spanking is for biting me.” 


Sam squirms and struggles with more determination, but the position his father is holding him in allows for minimal movement.


John doesn’t waste anytime, wanting this punishment over almost as much as his youngest does.  He places the final twenty swats, overlapping on the sensitive sit spot, bringing out a bright rosy-red color.


Without forewarning, Sammy ceases his struggling and lays limp over his father’s lap.


He sobs heavily, but between gasps for air, he is able to get out a soft, but unmistakable, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”


Hearing that, John lets out a sigh of relief.  He releases the pinned limbs, lifts his son off his lap, and places Sam over his shoulder to hold him close.  John gives Sam time to calm himself before attempting to talk with him.  John holds Sam tight against his chest, gently rubbing and patting his back, keeping aware of his sore butt. 


Sammy lays his head against his daddy’s shoulder, nuzzling into his dad’s neck to take in his comforting scent.  His small chubby hands grab hold of his father’s flannel shirt, adding to his secure feeling.


John holds Sam in this position until the sobbing stops, his breathing quieting.  He thinks his youngest is on the verge of drifting off to sleep.  John needs to clear the air before Sammy can doze.  He attempts to ease the child off his shoulder, but Sammy is holding tight to his flannel shirt. 


John gently speaks to his son. “Hey, Sammy, you ready to sit on my lap?”


Sam shrugs his shoulders, but this time he loosens his grip on the shirt when his father lifts him up and turns him to sit on his thigh.  John carefully places Sam on his lap, tilting him so he isn’t sitting on his sore behind.  Sam grabs more flannel with one chubby little hand while he starts to play with the buttons on his father’s shirt.  This is when his tender age of four is most obvious to John. 


John wraps his strong arm around his son’s shoulder and pulls him in tight to his chest.  His youngest needs the closeness that gives him warmth, security and forgiveness from his daddy. 


John waits a few moments for Sammy to settle in before he begins.


“Sammy, you know it was naughty to stay up last night past your bedtime and watch movies that you’re not supposed to watch.” 


Sammy stops playing with John’s shirt to place his thumb in his mouth.   John knows from this reaction that he has his son’s attention, so he continues.


“It was naughty to fight with your brother this morning.  It was naughty to run and hide from your Daddy.  And it was definitely wrong to bite your father.”


Tears start to fall from his repentant son.


“Do I need to explain why any of these actions are naughty or wrong?  And are you ever going to do them again?”


Sammy removes his thumb and pitifully chokes out, “No, Daddy.  I’m sorry, Daddy.” 


Sam then turns his face into his father’s chest and begins crying softly, his tears soaking into the flannel of his father’s shirt.  John hugs him tight until he quiets.  He gently lifts Sam’s chin to look him in the eyes. “Sammy, you understand what you did wrong.  You’re sorry.  You’ve been firmly punished and you’ve been forgiven,” he soothingly states.  “Okay?”


Sam nods tentatively, and follows with a soft, “Okay.”  He lays his head back on his father’s comforting chest.  They sit quietly for a few minutes.  Abruptly, Sam lifts his head and asks, “Is Dean still mad?”


“Are you still mad at Dean?” John inquires.


Sammy thinks for a second, and with a big grin returning to his face, says, “Nah.”


“I don’t think Dean is still mad, but you both need to shake hands and say you’re sorry.”


“Okay,” Sam agrees, grinning.


John stands up and bends over to put Sammy on his feet, but both Sam’s little fists are again clinging tightly to the front of his shirt.  Realizing his chastised baby still needs the comfort of his closeness, John straightens up, adjusting Sammy to a secure position in his arms and carries him to the front door.  John sticks his head out the door. 


Dean sees his father and brother and immediately asks, “Is Sammy ok?”


“Sammy is fine, Dean.  Come back in.”


John acknowledges Bobby with a nod.  “Singer, you want to come in for a cup of caffeine while I finish up with the boys?”


“You done with all the hubbub?”


“Well, boys?” John asks.


“Yes, sir,” is the duo response.


John points at the coffeemaker for Bobby, then proceeds to move the boys to the living room area, where he sits in one of the sofa chairs.  Sammy still clings to his shirt.


“Sammy, I need you to stand like a big boy, next to your brother.” 


Sam looks up into his father’s face and nods his agreement.  John lifts his youngest off his lap, placing him on his feet to stand side-by-side with his older sibling.


“I want you boys to shake hands and say you’re sorry,” John orders.


Sammy grins.  Dean smirks and gives an “aw, Dad.”


“Now, boys,” John barks, thinking when this hunt is over, he will need to have a serious talk with Dean about his back talk and its future consequences.


Both boys lean in, shake hands and reply together, “Sorry.”


“For the next two nights, Sammy, you’re to be in bed by nineteen hundred hours.  And Dean, you’re to follow by nineteen hundred thirty hours.”


Pitiful groans are heard from both boys.


“Should we make it eighteen hundred hours?”


“No, sir!”


“Then, that’s over with.”  John stands and continues. “I’ll be back in three days.  Standard orders apply while I’m gone.  Dean, you’re in charge.  Salt the doors and windows.  Keep the door locked and don’t answer it without the password.  Don’t answer the phone unless it rings once and stops.  Any questions?”


“No, sir.”


“I made a supply run while you boys napped this morning.”  


This statement elicits a scowl and huff from Dean, which John chooses to ignore. 


“The cereal’s been restocked and there’s a treat in the cabinet for after dinner.”


This brings about two wide grins, and the nap comment is quickly forgotten.


John reaches down, giving each of the boys a strong hug, kissing them both on top of their heads before releasing them.  He turns to make his way towards the kitchen area.


“Old man, you ready to move out?” John asks Bobby with half a grin.


“Waiting on you, Winchester,” Bobby replies sarcastically.


“We’re good here.”  With that the hunters grab their supplies and move out.




At exactly nineteen hundred hours, the phone rings once and stops.  Ten seconds later, it rings again and Dean answers.




John doesn’t usually call, but the timing is right, and he knows both boys put in a long night, followed by a rather rough day.  “Dean, I’m just checking in.  Everything okay?”


“Yes, sir.  Sammy’s in bed and I’m getting ready.  I’ll be in on time, and I’ve already laid the salt.”


“Good, boy.  No movie marathon tonight, right?”


“No, sir, the marathon’s over.”


“Good.  Good night, son”


“Good night, Dad.”


The two Winchesters hang up, both glad that the monster movie marathon is over.

The end. 

Tags: bobby, john, john spanks dean, john spanks sam, supernatural fan fic, wee!chesters
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