Title: SAMMY and HIS TEMPER
Author: Lady M
Beta: All mistakes are my own
Characters: Dean (16), Sam (12) & John
Rating: PG-13 for spanking
Warning: Parental spanking of a minor. Please don't read if this offends you.
Disclaimer: Eric Kripke and the CW own all. I own nothing.
Author’s note: This is a birthday fic for Razzie2414! Happy Belated Birthday! (It’s a little over a week late…that’s good for me.) Hope you like!
“WHY CAN’T I GO!” Sam yells at his father’s back as he follows the man into the kitchen.
“Young man, you better check that temper of yours or you’ll be sleeping on your stomach tonight.”
“Don’t whine at me, Samuel. I said no. This discussion is over.”
“What part of over aren’t you understanding, son?”
“The part where this could be the one time…”
“The one time he gets any from Cindy Snow,” Dean completes Sam’s sentence.
“Shut up, Dean!” Sam spits back at his annoying big brother.
“Dean, you’re not helping. Sam grab a corner and stay put.”
Dean smirks at his twelve-year-old hormonal little brother. His shoulders rise and fall in mock laughter.
John observes Sam’s venomous scowl leveled in the direction of his sibling on the far side of the kitchen. “Dean, grab yourself a corner.”
“Hey! What’d I do?”
John turns towards his oldest, “Your feigned ignorance just bought you a three mile run after you serve your corner time.”
Sam grins smugly.
“Samuel, don’t look so smug. He might be running but you and I will be having a serious talk. Eyes forward.”
Thunk! Sam’s forehead hits the wall.
John pours a cup of coffee. He sits at the table contemplating the situation unfolding around him. He waits patiently observing his two offspring. He stands. He paces between the two delinquents. He ceases his deliberation. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “It appears I have been negligent in enforcing the basic rules of this family. That is about to change.”
The brothers quickly exchange worried glances.
“First, you will stand at attention when serving corner time.”
Both boys straighten up and stand tall.
“There will be no whining, no back talk, no swearing, no antagonizing each other. You will follow my orders to the letter promptly and efficiently. You will follow the rules, absolutely. If I need to repeat myself, tails will get roasted. I’m not sure when this family got off course but we’re getting back on point, immediately. Are there any questions?”
“Dean, start your run. Sam, front and center.” John unbuttons the cuffs of his long sleeve shirt.
Dean bends to tighten his sneaker laces. He glances towards Sam with a sympathetic look. He exits through the backdoor at a warm-up pace.
“Sam, do you know why we’re here?” John slowly rolls up his shirt sleeves as he questions his youngest.
“Because you’re being unreasonable,” Sam pauses, “again.”
“Your attitude right there is one reason we’re having this discussion.”
“Discussion? You give orders and expect us to jump. There’s never any discussion!” Sam states exasperatedly with a raised voice.
John narrows his eyes at his adolescent’s boldness and disrespect. “You might want to remember who you’re addressing, son.”
Sam immediately reads the warning in his father’s tone and demeanor. He shuffles backwards a half a step.
“Did I tell you you could move?”
Sam nervously shakes his head no.
“Can’t hear you.”
“I’m gone for three weeks and the two of you lose all semblances of discipline, order and personal safety.” John pulls out a kitchen chair. He sits. “We’re going to rectify that right now. Over my lap.” He pats the top of his thighs twice.
Sam takes two steps away from his father.
“That act of defiance just cost you those jeans. If I have to repeat myself you’ll be doing this bare ass. Ball’s in your court, Samuel.”
John raises his eyebrows questioningly.
Sam scuffs slightly forward.
“Good choice, son,” John encourages. He pats his lap.
Sam limps forward within John’s arm reach.
John recognizes a skittish colt when he sees one. He securely grabs Sam’s wrist. He guides the boy into position at his right side. “Jeans.” He releases his hold on the youth.
Sam unbuttons and unzips. He slowly slides his pants down below his knees.
John guides the boy across his thighs with his left palm supporting Sam’s chest and his right arm across the lad’s back.
Sam shifts his legs causing his butt cheeks to alternately raise and lower.
John pats the presented bottom with his open palm to settle the child. He rests his left arm across the youngster’s back to secure the juvenile in place. John raises his right hand.
“Dad!” Sam frantically exclaims, turning his head to meet his father’s gaze.
“Sam?” John lowers his arm.
Sam turns his head to stare at the worn linoleum floor tiles. He braces for the worst. He doesn’t have to wait long.
John raises his hand.
The first swat is loud, forceful and stings like a bitch. It causes Sam to gasp with a large intake of air. He holds his breath anticipating the follow-up swat. On impact Sam exhales an almost inhuman sound.
John resigns to make his point, quickly and with maximum effectiveness. He masterfully paddles the boy’s entire bottom with his large open palm.
Sam yelps! He wildly squirms and twists to get free. The assault to his backside continues. He chokes out a pleading request for his father to stop.
John continues to pepper the heated buttocks positioned over his knees.
Sam scissor kicks his legs but the pants around his calves restrict his movements.
With his left arm John pulls the twelve-year-old tighter against his stomach. He doesn’t want Sam’s struggles to cause him to lose his grip. His last round of spanks will be memorable.
Sam feels his father adjust his hold. He knows the worst is about to be applied to his bottom.
John layers a volley of punishing swats across the youth’s backside.
John finishes his onslaught with spanks to the meatiest surface of Sam’s butt cheeks.
Sam sobs. His breathing hitches. He lays limp over his chastiser’s lap.
John rubs the back of the shaking and heaving chest prone over his thighs. He waits for his youngest to calm himself.
John gently raises his tearful son off his lap. He rests the boy against his chest.
Sam sniffles moistly. He rubs his tearing eyes with the backs of his hand. He reaches over his dad’s right shoulder with his right arm. The repentant imp buries his face snuggly against his father’s shoulder.
John pats the boy’s back with a comforting gesture.
Sam inhales a blubbering deep breath.
“That’s it, kiddo. You’re okay,” John soothes.
Sam nods his head up and down acknowledging confirmation. He’s too old to be crying this much but damn, John Winchester knows how to give an A-1 spanking. And Dean still cries, most of the time, so it must be okay because Dean’s tough.
“I’m going to sit you on my lap,” John advises his youngest.
“Okay,” Sam softly agrees.
John expertly lifts and turns his son. He rests the boy’s bottom comfortably on his thighs.
Sam slightly shifts his weight.
“Are you okay, son?” John gently inquires.
“Yeah, but my butt’s on fire.”
“Then I successfully fulfilled my responsibilities as your father.”
Sam glances upward towards his father with a mocking expression, “You didn’t have to be so good at it.”
John chuckles. He musses Sam’s unruly thick locks.
Sam bats away his father’s hand, “Dad, don’t mess with my hair. Cindy said she likes my look.”
John raises his eyebrows in surprise as his baby confides in him regarding a girl. “She does, does she?”
Sam raises a serious innocent face upward towards his father and nods an affirmative. “Yeah, girls are weird sometimes.”
“Is there anything you want to ask me about girls?”
“No, sir. Dean told me all about ‘em.”
“He did, did he?”
“Sure, he knows everything. He told me lots of stuff.”
“Care to share with your old man?”
“Dean said girls are softer than us, all in the right places, so you have to treat them special.” Sam widely grins at his dad. “He said you should never, ever, hit a girl, even if they hit you first. Unless they’re a demon or a witch or something bad. Then it’s okay.”
“That’s good advice.”
“He told me about the bases and what happens when you hit a home run. He told me about your rule.”
“Which rule is that?”
Sam sits up straight to convey the seriousness of his response, “If you can’t keep it in your pants then you better keep it covered. Did I get it right?”
“You sure did. And that’s one rule you better follow without exception.”
“Yeah, Dean said you repeat that one like a broken record.”
“I realize you have the expertise of your big brother at your disposal but you know you can always ask me anything.”
“Like, can I go to the party?”
John narrow’s his eyes at his son’s tenacity. “That subject is closed.”
“Do we need to discuss keeping it covered?”
“Not if I’m not going to the party.”
“Sam,” John responds warningly patting Sam’s butt twice.
“Sorry,” Sam shifts his position. He shyly mumbles, “I’m still working on first base.”
John warmly hugs the youth. “That’s okay, son. You go at your own pace.”
“But Dean said I need to step-up to the plate if I want Cindy to like me.”
“She’ll like you just fine.” John pats Sam’s back. He silently contemplates the chat he needs to have with his oldest.
Sam looks hopefully at his father.
“Just not at the party this weekend.”
“If you show me you can follow the rules without your temper flaring and without an attitude you can take her for pizza after school on Friday. If your brother goes with you.”
“WITH A BABYSITTER?” Sam angrily blurts loudly.
John tips Sam forward. His strong left arm supports the child under his stomach. He applies three strong swats to the presented bottom.
“OW!” Sam lurches forward but John has a secure hold.
John eases his hot tempered son back to sit on his thighs.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Sam gingerly rubs his butt cheeks.
“That temper of yours is one of the reasons you’re sitting here with a sore backside. You better keep it in check or Friday pizza will be off the table. What will be on the table will be an extended trip over my knee, with the paddle. Do we have an understanding?”
John encircles the boy with his strong arms.
Sam melts into his dad’s affectionate hug.
John warmly clasps the child against his chest. He embraces the boy until he feels Sam’s weight shift. He releases his hold.
Sam lazily attempts to stand. The exhaustion of the day overcomes Sam’s young form. He wobbles.
John’s quick reflexes respond. He lifts the boy off his feet. He props the twelve-year-old against the front of his torso.
Sam’s head bobs.
John shifts Sam’s frame into a partial fireman’s hold. He carries the child to his bedroom.
“I can walk,” Sam tiredly objects as John places the youngster under the covers of his bed.
“I know you can, Sam. Get some rest. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”
“Don’t tell Dean you carried me. He’ll think I’m a baby,” Sam mumbles.
“That will stay between us. Now close your eyes.” John closes the bedroom door. He heads back to the kitchen to wait for his oldest to return. He glances at his watch. The boy should be done with his run by now.
“Hey, dad,” Dean busts through the kitchen door.
“Good, you’re back.”
“Three miles. Just like you ordered. Is Sammy okay?”
“Your brother is fine.” With a wry grin John adds, “but we need to talk…”