Lady M (lady_m_319) wrote,
Lady M

We May Never Pass This Way Again, Maybe 1/3


Author:  Lady M

Beta:  minx999-Thank you, much!

Characters:  John, Dean (*8 and 28), Sam (*4 and 24), AU Ben Braeden (8); *age during flashback scene.

Implements:  Hand, paddle.

Rating:  PG-13 for spanking and mild 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 Notes:  Ben Braeden, from the episode ‘The Kids Are Alright’ is staying with Dean and Sam.  The author chooses not to explain why, for how long or if anything has happened to his mother, Lisa Braeden.



“Ben?  Ben!  Where is he?” Dean looks at his brother seated at the desk across the room.


“BEN!”  Dean yells at the top of his lungs.


Ben slides into the room from the doorway behind his Uncle Sam.  “What?”  He asks disgusted.  He slinks over to stand in front of his uncle.


“What is this?”  Dean holds open his palm showing an Impala key broken in two pieces.


Ben backs up a step.


Sam pushes his chair away from the desk.  He stretches tall to see over Ben’s head and into Dean’s palm.  He plants himself back into his chair.


“I found the top of the key on the ground by the driver’s side door.  The other end was broken off in the lock,” Dean explains. 


Ben backs up slowly until he rests against Sam’s outer left thigh.


“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you Ben?”  Dean accuses.


Ben backs up, still speechless.  He lifts himself onto Sam’s lap.


“WELL?”  Dean explodes.


“Dude, take a breath,” Sam interjects.


“Dude, the kid was messing with the Impala.”  Dean responds exasperated with hand out, palm up.


“Like you didn’t…” Sam scoffs.


“No way,” Dean cuts his brother off.


“Dean, don’t you remember what dad did when he caught you doing the same thing?”  Sam asks.


"I never messed with the Impala,” Dean states indignantly.


"Ha. Sure, you did.  You really don’t remember?  You were like seven or eight,” Sam asks surprised.


"How do you remember that?  You would have been three or four then.”


“Dad was real scary.  He was pacing all around the room, ranting and raving.  His face got so red.  I was afraid he was going to kill both of us."


“He was pretty pissed,” Dean chuckles.


"So you do remember.  Do you remember what he did to you?"


"It’s called a repressed memory, Einstein."


“He beat your ass, Dean,” Sam taunts.


“Uncle Sam,” Ben pipes up, distressed with his uncle’s clarification.


“Ssshhh, trust me,” Sam leans in close to whisper to Ben.  He rubs his nephew’s back for reassurance.


Dean squints and glares at the two across the room.  He tilts his head straining to hear their conversation.


"Well, Dean, am I right?” Sam prods.


Dean glazes over as he thinks back to one of the worst spankings his father every delivered.



Dean flashes back to when he was 8 years old.



John Winchester hears the distinct rumble of an engine, his Impala’s engine.  He dashes to the front door.  He reaches for the keys on the hook but they're missing.


"DAAAAAAAD!" Sammy hollers from the front yard. "DEAN'S TAK'IN THE CAR! DAAAAD!"


John bolts onto the front porch.  The Impala is at the end of the small driveway.  It turns onto the street to cross in front of the house.  He sees the top of a small crew cut head in the driver's seat. 


"Sammy, stay on the porch!"  John yells over his shoulder as he crosses the short lawn in five long strides. 


His marine training instinctively kicks in.  He runs parallel with the driver’s side door of the moving vehicle.  He grabs the door handle with his left hand.  He manages to swing the door open far enough to wedge his body between the open door and the car frame. 


Running at top speed, he hooks his left arm over the top of the open door.  He plants his right arm on the roof.  He balances his weight on both arms.  He inhales a deep breath.  He gets only one attempt to make this work.  He lifts his feet off the ground putting all his weight on his arms.  He swings his legs into the front seat shoving over the current driver.  The top half of his body follows his legs into the moving vehicle. 


He turns the steering wheel, just missing the oncoming mail box and shrubs.  He uses the brake to come to a complete stop.  He shifts the Chevy into park.  The car is three houses down the street from where it began its journey.  John takes in a deep breath of relief and lets it out.  He turns his head slowly to glare at his eldest seated next to him.


Dean shrugs his shoulders.


Accentuating each word, John asks slowly, "Are, you, hurt?"


"Are you gonna punish me if I say yes?" Dean tests the water.


"Does anything hurt?" John sternly repeats his question a little louder and a little faster.


"Not yet." Dean mumbles to his shirt front.


"What was that?" John raises his voice.


"No, sir."


"Enjoy the ride home, Mario,” John turns forward.  He shifts the Impala into drive.  “You won't be sitting down for a very long time." 


He looks around for nosey neighbors and oncoming traffic.  Fortunately, there is no sign of either.  John makes a 'U' turn in the middle of the street.  He eases his black beauty towards home.  Seeing that his son is okay calms his nerves, but the short distance to home does nothing to relieve his anger.


Sammy runs to the driver's door as John parks in the driveway.


"My turn," Sammy announces joyfully as he tries to scoot past his dad when he opens the car door.


John scoops Sammy into his arms.  He throws him over his shoulder.  He applies two firm swats to the youngster's butt.  "Don't you ever drive my car or you'll get much worse applied to your bottom.  Do you hear me?"


Sammy pushes himself off his father's shoulder.  Tears roll down his pudgy cheeks.  His bottom lip juts out.  With his best pouty face, he nods slowly, yes.


"Dean, move it," John orders over his shoulder as he carries Sammy up the walkway to the house.


Dean slides across the seat and follows his father out the driver's side door.  He slams the door behind him.  He thinks; if stupid Sammy hadn't yelled, he would have made it down the street and back into the driveway.  He would know if he could do it.  Dad would be okay with that.


Dean contemplates making a break for it.  His dad seems pretty mad.   Even just a couple of his dad’s swats can raise a memorable sting on a naughty behind.  He reconsiders.  Putting off one of his dad’s special talks only ever got him extra swats.  He sighs heavily.  He scurries up the sidewalk after his father. 


John puts Sammy on his feet.  He gives his butt a pat to move him into the room.  Sammy runs to the far corner of the room where his Lego’s and favorite blanket wait for him.


John holds the front door open waiting for his daredevil to shuffle into the house.  He angrily points to the couch.  He slams the front door.  Both boys jump at the sound.


John paces back and forth in front of the couch.  His face is a bright crimson color. 


"What the hell were you thinking, Dean?  You could have been hurt, never mind, killed!  You could have hurt someone else," John yells at his son seated on the couch.  “Your behavior was reckless and irresponsible.”


John rubs his hand across his face.  He needs time to cool off before he says or does something he'll regret later.  He shakes his head.  Without another word, he slowly turns and walks down the short hall to the bedroom all three Winchesters share.


Time passes slowly as Dean fidgets uneasily on the couch, waiting for his father’s verdict to be handed down.


Sammy plays in the corner, oblivious to his brother’s pending doom.  The Lego tower Sammy's constructing sways.  He looks over at his brother, "Wanna play Lego’s, Dean?"


"Can't, squirt."




"Cuz dad told me to sit on the couch."




"'Cuz he's pissed."




"Cuz I took his car."


"Daddy don't share nice."


"No, he doesn't," John interjects from the hall doorway.


Sammy's eyes go wide at the stern expression on his father's face.  He tosses his blanket over his head to hide.  If he can't see his dad, then his dad can't see him. 


John looms over the couch to address his eldest, "Dean, I am very disappointed with your actions today.  You could have been seriously hurt.  Hell, Dean, you could have run over your little brother.  I could have lost both of you."  John rubs his palm over his face.  His worry is fueling the anger he is trying to control.  “Why, Dean?  Why did you take the car?"


Dean stares wide-eyed at his father.  The disappointed remark hits him solid in his gut.  It tightens his stomach.  It occupies his thoughts.  It distracts him from putting into words the reason for his actions.


"Dean, do you have anything to say?"


Dean shakes his head, no, as tears well in his eyes.


"Stand at attention," John commands. 


Dean slides slowly off the couch.


"Get washed up.  Brush your teeth.  Put on your pajamas and wait for me in the bedroom.  You will be getting a spanking you won't soon forget.  Move out!"  John orders.


Dean looks up at his father's stern, unflinching expression.  He bolts towards the hallway.


John thunders into the kitchen.  He places his palms flat on the kitchen table.  He locks his elbows straight.  He wonders how Dean could be so foolish.  He takes in a deep breath and let's it out.  His statement 'I could have lost both of you' weighs heavily on his mind.  He takes in another deep breath and let's it out.  He’ll be careful where he leaves his keys in the future.  No.  He needs to make sure Dean never tries this again.


John reaches into the tall kitchen cabinet.  He rummages on the top shelf for the smooth, flat object.  He locates it.  He lays it down on the counter top.  Before he deals with his oldest, he needs to see to Sammy.  He inhales another calming breath.  He doesn't want to misdirect his anger at his youngest.


John walks into the living room area.  He steps towards the still figure in the corner.  “Sammy, do you want me to fix you something to eat?"  John asks the blue blanket blob.


Sammy tosses the blanket off his head. "Cookies?"  He asks joyfully.


"PB&J," John counters.


"Kay," Sammy agrees.


Sammy scoots past John into the kitchen.


John lifts Sammy into his designated kitchen chair.  His youngest sits on old telephone books so he can reach the tabletop.  John goes through the motions of fixing his wide-eyed, smiling, four–year-old a sandwich.  He uses the prep time to calm his anger.  He never punishes his sons out of anger.


Sammy chatters on about some cartoon characters as he waits for his PB&J.  John's not really listening to Sammy.  He's distracted with how he’s decided to deal with his oldest.  A good paddling to the small butt will leave a lasting impression.   


Sam takes a bite from the center of his sandwich.


“You want a drink, kiddo?”  John stands at the refrigerator door.


“Milk,” Sammy replies happily as he turns towards his father.  He eyes the paddle on the counter.  He points, “What’s that?”


“It’s a paddle,” John replies as he retrieves the milk from the refrigerator.


“Oh.” Sam turns back to his sandwich for another bite.


John removes a glass from the wooden wall cabinet.


“Can we play with it?”  Sam asks as his father puts the half-full glass on the table within the youngster’s reach.


“It’s not a toy.”


“Oh.” With two hands, Sammy lifts the glass to take a gulp of milk.  A little liquid dribbles out the corner of his mouth.  He puts the glass on the table and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.


“What’s it for?” Sam persists.


“To spank naughty heinies,” John replies.  He’s used to ‘Sammy of a thousand questions’.  He has found the honest approach is best with the inquisitive little boy.


“Oh.” Sammy takes another bite of his sandwich.  His head bobs up and down and side to side with the rhythm of his chewing.  His head stills suddenly.  His satisfied grin melts away.  His eyebrows crinkle.  He turns towards his father, “Is my heinie naughty?”  He asks with concern.


“Not today, kiddo,” John smiles as he ruffles Sam’s bushy brown locks.


Sammy gives his father a big smile and returns his attention to his plate.


“I want you to stay here in the kitchen.  I need to have a talk with your brother in the bedroom.”  John places a handful of potato chips onto the plate next to the remaining half of PB&J sandwich.


“Kay.” Sammy turns to watch his father.


John picks up the wooden paddle from the counter as he exits the kitchen.


John walks down the hall expecting to find Dean sitting uneasy on his bed.  As the bed comes into John’s line of sight, Dean’s not there.  He enters the room.  Dean stands in the far corner, exercising a self-imposed time out.  He’s waiting for the consequences of his actions. 


John’s heart goes out to the kid, but he needs to stay firm.  Dean’s actions were life threatening for himself and possibly his little brother.  This lesson is going to be painful for both him and his son.


“Dean, good. You’re taking this seriously.”


“Yes, sir.”


John sits on the boys’ bed.  “Come here.  We need to talk.”


Tags: ben braeden, dean spanks ben, john, john spanks dean, supernatural fan fic, wee!chesters
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