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Feb. 20th, 2011 | 06:01 pm
mood: cheerfulcheerful


Author: Lady M

Characters: John, Dean (9), Sam (5), Bobby

Scenario: wee!chesters, John spanks Dean, John spanks Sam

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.

“Sammy, stop, don't lean so far forward.  Somebody might see you. And you don't wanna slide off the edge.”   Big brother Dean Winchester lectures his five-year-old brother on the finer points of tossing water balloons safely off the motel's roof.


“I don't wanna fall,” Sam agrees nodding enthusiastically.


“That's right."


“Will daddy be surprised when we tell him we got the wicked witch with our water balloons?” Sam asks proudly.


“Oh yeah, dad will be surprised alright,” Dean mumbles to himself.  Dean thinks for a split second.  “Sam, you can't tell nobody. We're on a secret mission.”






“Not even daddy?”


“No, especially not dad.  It's a big secret.”


“But I tell daddy everything.”


“Did you tell him when you had a bad dream and wet the bed?”


“No, I only told you,” Sam whispers.


“Did you tell dad when you dropped his gun in the toilet?”


“You pushed me,” Sam argues.


“Did not.”


“Did too.”


“Bitch,” Dean declares.


“I'm telling daddy you swore.”


“Fine, you're off the mission.”  Dean dismisses flippantly.


“But I wanna be on the mission.  I wanna help get the witch,” Sam laments.


“So this is our secret. No telling dad, right?”


“'kay, it's our secret.”  Sam makes the sign over his lips to lock them shut.  He loses his grip on two of the five water filled balloons he’s cradling against his chest.  He scrambles forward to catch the rolling blobs.


“Sam, stop!” Dean grabs Sam by his ankles before he goes too far towards the edge of the roof. 


“But I lost my balloons,” Sam complains.


Gravity rolls the balloons across the uneven shingles.  They drop over the edge of the roof.  The boys hear the splatter from below when they hit the pavement. The brothers look at each other. They grin cheerfully.


“That sounded cool, Dean. I’m going back down to get more balloons,” Sam explains.


“I'll share.  Take one of mine,” Dean offers.


“I want my own.  I want green ones,” Sam whines.


“You can pick which one you want,” Dean prods.


“No, you don't have any green.  I want green,” Sam states stubbornly.


“Fine, you stay here.  I'll climb down and get you more green ones,” Dean acquiesces. He slides down the backside of the one story roof.  He grips the gutter.  He shimmies down the drain pipe.  The agile little monkey swings his legs into the open bathroom window.  The obliging big brother finds two more green balloons in the package on the nightstand.  He fills them with the holy water they prepared in the bathtub.


Sam waits impatiently for his cohort to return.  It's lonely up on the roof all by himself.  What if the witch comes?  His thoughts are interrupted by familiar voices below.  He creeps on his knees away from the security of the center of the sloped roof top.  He positions himself close enough to identify the voices.  It’s his dad and Uncle Bobby. They’re back from the hunt.



“Oh, no,” Sam maneuvers around to return to his perch at the center of the roof.  He loses hold of the balloons he's cradling.  They roll down the slanting roof.  He launches his body after them.  His footing slips. The youngster cascades down the weather beaten shingles, following his green balloons.


John Winchester and Bobby Singer reach for their concealed weapons when they hear a faint distress call for help.  They exchange glances when a round green object explodes at their feet.  They both look up at the origin of the attack.  They dodge two more balloons rolling off the roof. 


John's instinctive reflexes react in time to catch the plummeting five-year-old child, his child, free falling from the sky.


Sam lands securely in his father's arms.  Fear sets in.  His lower lip twitches.  The scared child’s eyes fill with water.  Sam opens his mouth wide. He elicits a high pitched cry.


“Sammy, are you okay?”  John works his knowledgeable hands over Sam's limbs.  "Does anything hurt?"


“No,” Sam sobs.  He wraps his arms tightly around his father's neck.


“SAMMY!”  Dean yells as he swiftly opens the motel door.  He rushes straight into Uncle Bobby's solid stocky legs.  He falls backwards. His butt lands on the hard cement walkway.  His head bumps the door jam.


“I got this one,” Bobby offers.  He helps a confused Dean to his feet.


“Is Sammy okay?”  Dean slaps at Bobby's helping hands.


Bobby checks the back of Dean's head.  He tilts it towards John, “Kid's going to have a lump but he's good to go.”


“He's going to have more than a lump,” John growls.




“Sam’s a little shook but he’s fine,” John glares at Dean as he contemplates who to question first.


“Sam what happened?” John addresses his youngest first.


“I fell,” Sam sobs.  He coughs pitifully.


“It's okay champ.  I got you,” John rubs Sam's back comforting him.


Sam lifts his head off his father's shoulder.  They look into each other's eyes.


“You're okay.” John states reassuringly.


Sam nods agreement.


“Good,” John hugs his child snuggly against his warm chest. The closeness reassures both Winchesters that Sam is safe in his father’s strong protective embrace. After a long pause, John releases his hold on the five-year-old. He sets Sam down to stand on the sidewalk.


John glances from one son to the other. “Inside, both of you,” he growls.


In haste the boys nudge each other back and forth to get through the door first.


“Winchester, much as I'd like to hear the tale those two are going to weave for you, I'm guessing there's going to be some hide tanning and caterwauling to follow. I’m going to stay out here and reload all the weapons. I’ll be done in about twenty minutes.”  Bobby checks his watch.


“Make it forty.”


“They're just young'uns, John.”


“Who could be dead from rolling off a one story roof,” John glares at his friend's unsolicited meddling.


Bobby nods understandingly. He turns to focus on the artillery in the trunk of the Impala.


John steps into the motel room.  He closes the door behind him. He crosses his arms over his chest.


The boys sit on the bed in silence.  Their wide eyes pinned to their father's threatening form.


“Boys, stand at attention,” John orders.


Dean pulls Sam by the arm to help him slide to the edge of the bed so he can get his feet under him.


“Sam, what were you doing going up on the roof?”


No response.


“I asked you a direct question.”


“Can’t tell,” Sam informs quietly.


“What do you mean you can’t tell?”


“Secret mission,” Sam whispers.


“What was that young man?”


Dean squeezes Sam's hand.


Sam purses his lips. He slowly shakes his head in a negative response.


John crosses the room to stand directly in front of the boys.  His tall muscular structure looms over them.  “Are you telling me no?” John’s low voice hangs on the last word.


Sam slides back to wedge himself between his big brother and the bed.


John reaches around Dean.  He takes a secure grip on Sam's forearm.  He maneuvers the boy forward to stand next to his brother.  He applies a hard swat to Sam's rump.  “I will not ask again. What were you doing on the roof?”


Sam’s lower lip juts out. It quivers. He rubs the sting in his heinie. Wide eyed he shakes his head slowly.


“Dean, were you watching your little brother?” John abruptly turns his focus to his oldest.


“Yes sir,” Dean answers cautiously.


“So why was he on the roof?”


Dean shrugs his shoulders.


John glares sternly at his two boys, eyebrows furrow. He’s taken back at how they openly dare to defy his authority. His patience wears thin. He needs to remedy this situation, immediately. His eyes scan the room for his duffel bag. He struts authoritatively across the room. He bends down and rummages through the bag.


Sam and Dean glance concernedly towards each other. Their father could only be looking for one thing, the dreaded wooden paddle. 


Sam sniffles, his eyes wide with anticipation as he watches his father. He doesn’t want a spanking. He’s never had the paddle applied to his butt but he knows when his dad uses it on Dean he always turns up the TV volume for Sam to watch and closes the door. He knows it must really hurt because it always makes Dean cry.  And his big brother doesn’t cry.  The five-year-old decides he doesn’t want to wait for his father to produce whatever he is searching for in the bag. He scampers towards the door. 


Dean darts after his little brother attempting to halt his escape.


John hears the commotion and immediately moves to follow his escapees.


Sam exits the room. He runs swiftly to the left, parallel to the building.


The unanticipated opening of the door, followed by the fast moving Winchesters, draws Bobby’s attention away from the task at hand.


Sam stops abruptly near the end of the sidewalk.


A grey shaded shape manifests itself in front of the wide eyed child. The figure floats a foot above the concrete walk. Its long scraggly hair waves wildly around a wrinkled face. Shards of torn cloth drape loosely from the image’s form. Long thin arms with spindly fingers appear to tread the air to stay afloat. Piercing bloodshot eyes gaze down at the stunned child. An evil grin forms slowly across the creased lips.


John shoves Dean through the motel doorway where he’s out of the creature’s line of sight.


Bobby alertly straightens to stand shoulder to shoulder with John. The two hunters reach for their concealed weapons.


The figure’s attention focuses away from the child. It grins knowingly at John and Bobby showing a mouth full of yellow, sharp, cracked teeth. The floating ethereal being lifts a struggling Sam by the back of his shirt. She securely holds the youngster in front of her chest.


“Put down your weapons. No one wants the boy to get shot.”


“Let the child go.”


“He is mine, now.”


“No I’m not,” Sam battles with flailing limps. He grabs whatever his small chubby hands can get a fist around.


“Samuel, stop,” John orders.


The apparition pronounces loudly, “I am Elaina, High Priestess. His blood is needed to solidify my coven. I will rise to be most powerful.”


Bobby edges off the sidewalk to distract the witch’s concentration. He hopes to open an angle for himself or John to get a clear shot at the creature without hitting Sam.


“Old man, your tactics are useless. You will either shoot the sacrifice or shoot me. If you shoot me my coven will not rest until it has revenged my demise. You cannot succeed here. Walk away.”


“I will shoot both of you before I let you take my son,” John announces stubbornly.


The witch raises her crinkled face towards the sky. A frightening screech of laughter emanates from the sorceress, “Humans.”


A round colored blob from above explodes as it solidly hits its target. The raised withered face begins to eerily smoke. A second assault follows. The third balloon causes the witch to release her grip on Sam as she swats at the dripping holy water.


Sam struggles awkwardly to slide down the smoking, melting mess of flesh and tattered rags. He runs towards his father.


“Sam, drop,” John commands sharply.


The well trained five-year-old immediately slams his body flat against the pavement.


John and Bobby simultaneously fire on the disintegrating threat.


Dean hits his goal with two more well aimed balloons. The witch melts into an oily puddle on the ground. The concrete absorbs the slick remains. The remaining essence of the shape combusts into the atmosphere.


John drops to one knee.


Sam scrambles off the cold ground. He bolts as fast as his little legs will carry him into his father’s open arms.


John tightly hugs the scared youth. He quickly rubs a hand over Sam’s arms and legs to assess injuries. “You okay, champ?”


Sam pauses. He relaxes his grip from around his daddy’s neck. “My elbow,” Sam pouts. He bends his arm to show his battle scar.


“It’s just a scrape. You’ll be fine,” John brushes sand from the designated area. He relaxes with the insignificance of the bruise.


Bobby nudges John in the shoulder. He nods his head upward towards John’s eldest standing on the roof top.


Dean sports a satisfied ear to ear grin.


John swallows the relief he feels. He bellows sharply at his nine-year-old, “Dean, get your ass down here double time.”


Dean abandons his moment of self pride. He turns his wide eyed gaze towards his scowling father. He scurries back over the roof top to follow his escape route.


“You’re okay, Sammy?” John relaxes his hold on his youngest.


Sam sniffles. He wipes his damp face on his sleeve. He nods affirmatively.


Dean arrives flustered at the open motel door.


John stands upright. He maneuvers Sam to stand next to his big brother. The disciplinarian crosses his arms over his chest. He glares sternly in disbelief at his offspring standing in front of him. “What were you two thinking running off like that?”


Dean opens his stance up casually. He prepares to respond to his father’s questions.


“Dean, unless you’re looking to go over my knee for a round with the paddle, you better think twice before you spew one of your bullshit excuses. And I’ll let you know when I’m done asking the questions.”


Dean closes his mouth. He stands at attention.


Bobby steps forward, turning his back to the boys. He steps in close enough for only John to hear, “I think we need to move out before the coven comes looking for your boys. We can regroup at my place?”


John rationally considers. “Agreed.”


Bobby nods understandingly.


“Boys, get packed. We’re moving out in fifteen,” John orders as he points into the motel room.


The boys glance blankly at each other. They had expected their backsides would be receiving some serious swats from their dad.


“MOVE IT!” John raises his voice.


“I’ll get a start on the research. Make some calls,” Bobby advises.


“You familiar with this High Priestess lore?” John asks.


“That’s not mine,” Sam’s loud high pitched voice interrupts John and Bobby’s discussion.


“IS TOO,” Dean yells back.


“IS NOT,” Sam counters.


“Just put it in your bag and shut-up before dad comes in here.” Dean reasons.


John moves swiftly into the room. He stands behind the boys as they toss random items at each other. Nothing’s going into any bags. The boys know proper protocol for a swift evacuation and relocation. They have their orders. There are consequences for not following the rules.


John grabs Sam’s bicep to spin him around. He leans the youth against his muscular thigh. The determined parent plants two firm swats to the positioned bottom. He stands Sam next to his brother.


Sam rubs at the fresh sting in his hindquarters.


Dean turns around to face his father. He takes a deep breath. The nine-year-old prepares for the same consequences his little brother’s just suffered.


John pulls Dean close to his denim covered thigh. He repeats his fatherly discipline. The older child receives four smarting swats to his backside.


“Do I need to be any clearer?”


“No sir,” both boys answer. Sam responds with a slight sniffle.


“Ten minutes and counting.”


“Yes, sir,” they both eagerly toss loose items into their bags. They move quickly and efficiently packing clothes, books, crayons and army men. The lingering sting in their butts keeps them focused. They really don’t want to experience any additional encouragement from their father, especially when he’s in a swatting mood.




The Impala’s ride is silent for the first ten minutes. Fear and anger still circle John as he speeds the vehicle towards Bobby’s safe haven.


“Daddy, which witch was it that we got?” Sam asks innocently from the driver’s side of the backseat.


Dean sharply nudges Sam in the ribs. He gives his little brother the black look of oh-crap-don’t-get-dad-started.


“Ow,” Sam squawks.


“What do you mean which witch?” John asks aggravated.


Dean kicks his brother in the shin.


“Stop, Dean,” Sam swats Dean on the thigh.


Dean punches Sam in the arm.


“Dad, Dean hit me,” Sam whines.


John inhales a calming breath. “That’s enough, you two. Don’t make me pull this car over. You won’t like the consequences.” 


“Yes, sir,” the boys grumble.


John pauses for a moment. “Sam, what do you know about the witch?” 


“The house fell on the first one,” Sam starts confidently.


“What first one? What are you talking about?” John asks quickly for clarification. He stares at the boys in the rearview mirror.


“Dad, he’s nuts. Shut-up Sam,” Dean covers Sam’s mouth with his open palm.


“Am not,” Sam pushes Dean’s hand away.


Dean pushes back.


“Boys! Last warning,” John’s low authoritative growl fills the inside of the vehicle.


Dean maneuvers to the opposite side of the backseat away from his annoying brother. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. His eyes squint angrily. Dean’s mad his little brother can’t keep a secret.


“Samuel, continue,” John instructs sternly.


“The second witch was melted by the girl and her dog. They were sisters. Was this one a sister? Me and Dean did good hunting her. Right, dad?” Sam asks proudly.


“Hunting her? You thought you were hunting a witch?” John can’t believe his innocent little baby just used the word hunting.


“Sam, shut-up,” Dean hisses through gritted teeth.


“Dean, you took your little brother hunting for a witch,” John asks accusatorily. “Why would you take your brother on a …,” John trails off. As far as John’s aware Sam doesn’t know how his father spends his time away from the boys. He didn’t know Sam knew the meaning of hunting.


“Dean, you and I are going to have one serious talk when we get to Bobby’s,” John glowers at his oldest in the rearview mirror.


Dean scowls at his excessively chatty brother. He knows one of his dad’s serious talks usually ends with him face down over his dad’s knee and the palm of his dad’s firm hand explaining his misdeeds to his bare bottom.  Sam sucks.


“THAT’S NOT FAIR!  You didn’t let me talk,” Dean aims his day’s weariness and frustration at his father.


John Winchester has never tolerated disrespect from either of his sons. He pulls the Impala to a sudden stop in the middle of the deserted road. He shifts the car into park. He throws his right arm over the back of the seat. He glares hotly at his oldest son crouched in the farthest corner of the backseat.


“Do you have something you want to say to me, young man?”


With a slight smirk, “That’s not fair, SIR,” creeps into Dean’s crafty mind. Fortunately Dean’s need for self-preservation wins over his smartass gene, this time. He would like to make it to his tenth birthday.


“No sir. It can wait until we get to Uncle Bobby’s, sir,” Dean emphasizes the word sir. He can tell when his father’s on the edge. He thinks a show of respect might delay the unpleasant butt warming that he’s sure is in his future.


John counts to ten. His brow furrows at the obstinate nine-year-old. He thinks, We don’t have time for this crap. The boys aren’t safe. John’s cell phone rings. He answers it with his left hand as he maintains eye contact with his oldest. “We’re fifteen minutes out. Got it,” John snaps his cell closed. The hunter instincts in John Winchester take over. Frustrated he slaps the back of the seat with his right open palm. He points his right index finger at his firstborn. “We’re not done with this.” He turns towards the front of the car. He puts the gear shift into drive. The Impala roars into motion.


Dean expels the breath he’s holding. He pauses to formulate his next plan of action. He deviously slides his foot across the seat. He halfheartedly kicks his little brother’s thigh. Dean needs to reestablish the pecking order.


Sam opens his mouth to tattle to his father.


Dean flashes his best I-dare-you smirk.


Sam stares at the back of his father’s head. The five-year-old is smart enough to understand that now isn’t the best time to throw fuel on the fire. He crosses his arms over his chest eliciting a “Humph” sound. His brow furrows. His lower lip juts out to a full pout.


Dean grins. He’s satisfied his work here is done. Of course, being higher on the pecking order means when dad starts handing out swats his rear-end will glow a rosier red than his little brother’s backside. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat contemplating the pending spanking.


Silence blankets the interior of the speeding Chevy. Dean considers Sam sitting dejected and all alone on the other side of the seat. He slides his butt across the leather. He leans his left shoulder against the little squirt.


Sam promptly turns his pouty face away from Dean.


Dean drapes his left arm around Sam’s shoulders. He waits. With his left index finger he pokes Sam in his left cheek a couple of times.


Sam’s head wobbles back and forth in response to Dean’s prodding. He giggles. He turns towards his big brother. He snuggles into Dean’s warm inviting side. Sam relaxes and closes his eyes. Exhausted from the morning’s activities he slips quickly into a restful slumber.


John glances in the rearview mirror at the commotion in the backseat. Relief washes over him as he watches his two delinquents settle down to rest safely under his guardianship. It pains him to remember that this morning one of his sons rolled off the roof of a building. And under his watch the same son was seized by a malevolent being. Fortunately they’ll be arriving soon at Singer’s Salvage Yard. There he will need to balance being a father and a hunter. As hunters he and Bobby will work to resolve the current supernatural threat to his children. As a father, John’s job is not over for today. He will keep the boys protected but both sons will be sleeping on their stomachs tonight.


The Impala rumbles through the gated entrance to the driveway of Singer’s Auto Salvage Yard. John reaches around into the backseat. He taps each boy on their knee once. “We’re here, boys. Grab your stuff. Debriefing in Bobby’s living room in fifteen minutes. Move out.”


“Dean, I gotta pee,” Sam whispers as he retrieves handfuls of crayons and toys off the backseat and floor. He stuffs as much as he can fit into his pant pockets.


“Me, too. Leave the stuff. We’ll come back.”


“Dad will be mad,” Sam warns.


“He’ll be mad if we both piss in our pants and we have to do laundry,” Dean reasons.


The boys scramble urgently out of the backseat leaving the car door open.


Bobby stands on the paint deprived front porch holding the weather worn door open.


The boys dart at a frantic pace past their uncle into the familiar house.


Bobby shakes his head. He saunters down the driveway to the parked Impala. He meets John on his way from the trunk of the Chevy to the open backdoor.


“Those boys,” John scoffs disapprovingly as he shuts the rear door. He returns to the open trunk.


“Those young’uns of yours were sure in a hurry. You send them up to their room?” Bobby inquires curtly.


“You got something you want to say old man?” John stares around the open trunk.


“I suspect them two boys of yours are going to be sporting some mighty sore keisters before the night is over. Might be a good idea to see what they know about the witch before you start your parenting.”


John ignores Bobby’s reproachful comments. He returns his attention to gathering the supplies from the trunk, “Their orders were to be in your living room for a debriefing in fifteen minutes. You’re welcome to attend,” John smirks as he looks around the open trunk, “being as it is your house.”


“John Winchester, anybody ever tell you, you can be one damn S.O.B.?”


“More than once, Singer,” John grumbles. “More than once.”


The boys dash out through the front door in the direction of the car. Sam’s pant fly’s wide open showing off his red superman underpants. The two sprinters run into the side of the Chevy to stop their momentum.


“You’ve got five minutes, boys,” John warns sternly.


Two out of breath, “Yes sirs,” reply.


John tosses a weapons bag to Bobby. He grabs two other duffels. He slams the trunk closed.


The two men proceed purposefully towards the house. John offers a rare statement of clarification, “Singer, after we take care of the witch’s coven then I’ll have a serious talk with the boys about their shenanigans. Their safety comes first.”


Bobby nods his understanding and agreement as he opens his front door for John to enter. “I got a call into Pastor Jim.  I found two books on witch lore that could apply here,” Bobby calls into the house after the determined hunter passed through the threshold. He stands holding the door open.


Sam and Dean trudge towards the house. Dean helps Sam as he stumbles with his awkwardly heavy bag.


The boys puff out a breathless, “Thanks Uncle Bobby,” as they practically fall through the open front doorway. They drop their bags with a thud.


Dean grabs Sam by his shirt’s shoulder. He maneuvers his little brother to stand in front of the couch.


“We made it. Stand at attention,” Dean instructs Sam as he gives him the once over.


“Dick wad, your barn door’s open,” Dean admonishes.


“I can’t get it,” Sam struggles with his zipper.


“You jammed too much stuff in your pockets. Shut-up, here comes dad,” Dean elbows Sam.


John paces like a drill sergeant in front of the boys, erect and threatening. He unbuttons the cuff of his left sleeve. He turns the fabric over. He slowly rolls the sleeve tightly up his left arm.


Dean stands at attention.


Sam nervously shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He slides the palms of his hands behind him to cover his butt.


John rolls his right cuff up his muscular forearm. He eyes his two children deciding which should be first, “Sam, you first.”


Sam edges a small half step behind his brother. Sometimes a spanking isn’t as scary for Sam when Dean goes first. Sometimes it’s scarier.


“I’ll go first,” Dean steps forward. He senses Sam’s apprehension. Big brother to the rescue.


“No, Sam started telling the story in the car. I want him to finish,” John advises sternly.


The boys look dumbfounded at each other. No spankings? 


Dean quickly adapts. He turns back to his father. “The house fell on the first witch. The girl and her dog melted the second one. Ring any bells?” The nine-year-old asks sarcastically. 


“Don’t get smart with me, young man.”


“Dad, Sam and I watched the Wizard of Oz movie last night. We went up on the roof to bag another witch.


“So both of you were on the roof?” John glowers at Dean having caught him in a confession. “What were you thinking?”


“We had balloons with holy water, dad. We were waiting for the witch,” Sam offers enthusiastically.


“What witch?” John asks exasperated with a raised voice.


“Dean said we could hunt the other…” Dean covers Sam’s mouth with his open hand before Sam finishes his sentence. He knows the word hunting is not to be used in front of Sam. Crap, another reason for dad to swat Dean’s butt.


“So where did the witch come from?” John grills the boys.


Both boys look at each other. They shrug their shoulders with bewilderment.


John rubs his hand over his face stubble, “Let me get this straight. You watch a movie about witches. You fill balloons with holy water. You climb onto the roof with the hope that a witch will pass by so you can gank it with the holy water?”


From across the room Bobby chuckles at the summation. This story is so far fetched it could only happen to these Winchester boys. His cell phone rings, “Singer, yeah Jim…I’ve heard of that,” Bobby pauses to hear Jim’s information.


John moves across the room to clearly hear Bobby’s end of the call.


The boys sit back on the couch. In unison they let out a heavy sigh of relief.


“You’re still at attention,” John growls in the boys’ direction.


Immediately the two delinquents are back on their feet.


“Is there a second option?” Bobby inquires into the phone. He waits for the reply. “Thanks, Jim,” Bobby snaps his cell closed. He pauses thoughtfully with the phone in his palm.


“What did Jim say?” John asks frustrated.


“I made a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen,” Bobby nods towards the boys as he addresses John. “It might be ready by now.”


John follows Bobby through the doorway into the kitchen.


Dean looks over his shoulder towards the kitchen. He removes his sneakers without untying the laces. He quietly gets down on all fours.


“Dean?” Sam begins.


“Shhh,” Dean whispers at Sam with his finger over his lips. “Stay put.”


Dean silently crawls the longer distance around the couch to avoid direct view from the kitchen. He maneuvers stealthily until he’s able to listen from the side wall at the entrance to the kitchen.


Bobby begins, “Jim filled in some of the missing pieces. The witch priestess marked Sam as a human sacrifice to solidify her coven. Even liquefying the priestess didn’t release the coven minions from her spell. They’re mindless droids magically bound to follow her last order, sacrifice Sam. They’ll be coming after the boy.”


“Jim know a way to fix this?” John picks up his coffee mug.


“We need to perform a short ritual and incantation at the sight she perished. Earlier I marked a passage in the green book in front of you,” Bobby pours himself some coffee.


John reads the designated pages. “This says we need a personal item from the witch for the ritual to cancel her hold over the coven. There wasn’t anything left after Dean hit her with the holy water. Does Jim have a second option?”


“He said he’ll get back to us when he does.”


“Until then we sit around with our heads up our asses waiting for them to come for Sammy?”


“You’re as safe here as anywhere.” Bobby attempts to defuse the tense situation, “And we’re not going to be just sitting around. We got these two books to finish. And if we need more we can check out the rest of my library.”


John purses his lips together. He nods in thought. He pushes his chair back away from the table.


Dean slides silently backwards on all fours abandoning his safe hiding spot. “Umph,” He backs into Sam who’s standing directly behind him.


Sam loses his balance. He wobbles. He falls on top of Dean. Crayons fall out of Sam’s pockets. They roll across the floor.


Dean lays flat on his stomach. “Get off of me.”


John’s heavy boots appear in front of Dean’s face.


Dean pounds the floor in defeat with his fist.


John wraps his arm around Sam’s waist.  With one arm he lifts the child off his sibling. John positions Sam’s back to rest against his abdomen. “Dean, get up,” John orders disgustedly.


Bobby crosses his arms in front of his chest. He leans his shoulder against the door jam.


“What’s the rule about eavesdropping?” John demands soberly.


“Not to?” Dean asks in a whisper. His attention focuses on his toes wiggling nervously in his stockings.


“Try again, mister.”


“No eavesdropping, ever, sir,” Dean responds with confidence.


John stands Sam on his feet.


Bobby clears his throat. He taps his watch to signal John.


John takes a firm hold of Dean’s bicep. He guides the boy around the couch.  With his free hand he lands three loud swats to Dean’s arched backside.


“Ow,” Dean reacts.


“Corner,” John points to an available space in Bobby’s living room.


Dean shuffles to the designated area. He rubs at the sharp sting in his butt.


John walks determinedly towards Sam.


“Daddy, I didn’t hear anything,” Sam covers his butt with his palms as his father approaches. John’s dark demeanor threatens without uttering a word.


Sam backs up against the wall to protect his backside.


John lifts the five-year-old up to his shoulder. He gives the unprotected bottom two firm swats.


“Ow,” Sam looks his father in his eyes with his best pouty face. “But I didn’t hear anything,” Sam whines.


Sam’s pout can still melt a part of John’s heart. But John knows this day is far from over. He and Bobby need to abolish the coven to keep his boys safe. After that he can focus on being the disciplinarian, the one who sets the rules, carries out the consequences and forgives the offences. And then the pouty and sullen faces can be comforted. 


“We’re not done here. We’ll talk about this when I finish working. Stand next to your brother,” John places his youngest on the floor. His firm grip on the boy’s shoulder turns him to face the wall mirroring his older sibling.


John turns away from his two boys. He follows Bobby back to the research laid out on the kitchen table. They need to find a second option, fast, before the coven locates the boys.


Part two



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