Title: JOHN WINCHESTER STILL SMALL
Author: Lady M
Characters: De-aged John, Dean, Sam, Bobby
Scenario: Bobby spanks John, Bobby spanks Dean
Implements: Hand and spoon.
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 Note: This is a De-aged John Winchester fic. It can stand alone but in the series it will probably fit in as the third fic. The first, JOHN WINCHESTER GOES SMALL, ended with Bobby telling the boys to stay put. This fic already has the boys at Bobby’s. The muse finished this one before she finished the second fic. It’s being posted out of order. Hope you don’t mind, enjoy.
Sam Winchester lies sprawled across Bobby’s comfortably worn couch. His large feet dangle over the upholstered armrests. The open book rests on his chest. If he’s not researching a job then he’s researching how to get his de-aged dad back to normal size.
“SAM! GRAB HIM!” Dean bellows down from the top of the stairs.
Reacting to Dean’s urgent tone Sam immediately sits upright.
Giggling past him trots a de-aged John Winchester, naked as a jaybird.
“DAD, STOP!” Dean calls to his father as he hits the first floor landing.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asks from his spot on the sofa.
“He got into the weapons. He’s got his gun.”
“Shit!” Sam hops over the back of the couch. He follows Dean who is following their dad into the kitchen.
Dean freezes abruptly as he crosses the kitchen threshold. He holds his arms out blocking the doorway.
Sam barrels into his brother’s back.
Bobby stands on the far side of the kitchen blocking the exit to outdoors. His left arm outstretches towards the boys. His palm rises upright in a silent command to halt.
Little John stands in the center of the room. He twirls and fumbles with a shiny revolver.
Dean slowly slides sideways into the kitchen. He keeps his dad’s back towards him. He doesn’t want to spook the child.
“The safety’s off,” Bobby declares calmly.
John ceases his gun play. He stares up at Sam. He grins happily, “shit, shit, shit.” He hops from one foot to the other. He swings the pistol around.
“Hey, Dad,” Dean retrieves a large lollipop out of a brown paper bag sitting on the counter top. “I’ll trade you the gun for this lollipop.”
John holds out his pudgy left hand towards Dean. He opens and closes the chubby fist to signal he wants the candy.
“Put the gun on the floor and I’ll give you the sucker.”
“Mine!” John grumbles. With both hands he holds the firearm flat against his small chest.
“Yes, Dad, it’s yours but it’s big yours not small yours so let’s trade.”
“MINE!” John hollers. He snuggles the revolver against his bare chest. He turns at the waist left to right, feet planted.
“LISTEN UP, JOHN WINCHESTER! YOU PUT THAT GUN DOWN RIGHT NOW!” Bobby yells sternly.
John glares at Bobby as only John Winchester can. He stands still as a statue. His eyes fill with tears. He scrunches his eyes close. The child’s mouth opens wide. A silent wail escapes. Tears stream down the youngster’s flushed cheeks.
Dean pries the weapon out of the chubby little hands. He secures the gun in his back waistband.
John quiets when he realizes his prize toy has been taken from his grasp.
“Shit, Bobby. You didn’t have to yell at him,” Sam admonishes.
“I’m gonna do more than yell at him. John Winchester you know better than to play with guns. You tanned these boys’ hides more than once for committing the same offense.” Bobby lifts John up by his underarms. He props his left foot on a chair rung. He lays the child over his raised thigh. He spanks the youth’s bare bottom with three quick stinging swats.
A silent moment passes before John’s brain senses the sore prickly feeling in his butt cheeks. He cries openly.
Bobby lifts John off his leg. He stands the tearful youngster on the table top.
John reaches back. He places his open palms on his smarting buttocks. He sniffles.
“That was just a warning, Johnny boy. Anymore get’in into stuff you’re not supposed to and you’ll be one sorry little boy.” Bobby passes John into Sam’s arms. “Sam take him upstairs for his bath. I need to talk to your brother.”
“But it’s Dean’s turn,” Sam objects.
“Don’t make me go for my spoon.”
Dean holds out the lollipop to John.
“Naughty boys don’t get lollipops,” Bobby reprimands. He snatches the stick from Dean’s hand.
John wraps his arms around Sam’s neck. He buries his tear streaked face against Sam’s shoulder.
“Bobby?” Sam turns on his best puppy dog pout.
“After his bath,” Bobby softens. “But not before and only if he behaves.”
Sam rubs his father’s back soothingly, “You want to hold the lollipop?”
John glances up at Sam. He nods yes. He gazes in Bobby’s direction.
Bobby offers the candy.
John grabs it. He quickly buries his face against Sam’s neck. He holds the pop tightly in his hand snuggling it between Sam’s and his body.
“Get moving before I change my mind,” Bobby growls.
Sam promptly turns. He carries John out of the kitchen gently patting the boy’s back.
Bobby turns his attention to Dean, “All right, you’re next. Drop’em and bend over the back of the chair.”
“What’d I do?” Dean asks incredulously.
“It’s what you didn’t do. Who was supposed to be watching the little rug rat when he helped himself to a weapon?”
Dean’s face pales with a deer in the headlights expression. “But…”
“No buts,” Bobby cuts Dean off. “You either were or you weren’t responsible for the welfare of Johnny boy at the time when he commandeered a loaded gun.”
Dean guiltily hangs his head, “I was.”
“Good, now that that’s settled, drop’em and bend over.”
Dean positions himself behind the kitchen chair. He lays John’s pistol on the table top. He unbuckles his belt. He unsnaps and unzips his jeans. He drops them below his knees. He adjusts his feet. He bends over the wooden chair back. He grips the sides of the chair seat for support. Behind him, Dean hears Bobby open a cabinet drawer. He recognizes the familiar sound of the shuffling of the drawer’s contents. Oh crap! Bobby’s searching for his spoon. Dean hears another drawer open, more shuffling.
“Balls, where’s my spoon?”
Dean chuckles quietly. Sammy said he was going to hide Bobby’s spoon of doom. Maybe he did.
Bobby slides another drawer open, “Got it!”
Dean cringes. All humor erased. He tightens his hold on the chair seat.
Bobby stands next to his target. His butt rests against the table edge. He drapes his left arm over Dean’s lower back. “You may have only taken your eyes off the boy for a couple of minutes but somebody could have gotten real hurt today by your loss of focus. I consider that to be pretty serious. You’re getting fifteen. With the spoon of doom Bobby tags Dean’s butt straight across the center peaks.
Bobby swats the boy’s backside a second time.
Dean’s face contorts. He inhales deeply.
Bobby delivers the third smack.
Dean exhales slowly.
Bobby administers two quick spanks with the spoon.
Dean breathes rapidly in and out working through the nasty sting in his bottom.
“That’s five. Now we’re gonna get serious,” Bobby slides Dean’s shorts over his pinkened butt cheeks, down to meet his jeans.
Dean braces in anticipation of Bobby’s next swat. He slightly bends his knees hoping his butt will better absorb the next volley of spanks.
Bobby briskly applies the wooden spoon five times to the crest of Dean’s buttocks.
Dean hisses through clenched teeth. He expects the last five will be doozies.
Bobby peppers the exposed curve of Dean’s sit spots with the five swats remaining.
Dean drops his head forward. He breathes quick shallow Lamaze type breaths to work through his painful discomfort. Tear drops escape. They splatter onto the chair seat.
“We’re good, boy,” Bobby pats Dean’s lower back with his left palm. He steps away from the table giving Dean the space and time he needs to compose himself.
Dean squeezes his eyes shut to expel remaining tears. He inhales deeply. He breathes out slowly. With his hands he grips the top of the chair back for support. He stiffly straightens his body.
Bobby tosses the implement of punishment onto the counter top. He turns. He rests his backside against the counter’s edge patiently waiting for Dean to steady himself. He crosses his arms.
Dean gingerly guides his boxers over his buttocks back into position. He carefully eases his jeans upward. Slowing the motion as the denim contacts his sit spots. He can tell this is going to be one of Bobby’s more memorable spankings. He zips and buttons his jeans. He buckles his belt. Dean releases a deep sigh of relief. He turns towards the man who just set his ass on fire. “You swing a mean spoon for an old fart,” Dean warily rubs his butt cheeks.
“And don’t you forget it,” Bobby narrows his eyes at the boy standing before him. He steps forward to embrace the chastised youth.
“I get it, literally. Watch out for dad. I got it covered,” Dean reasons.
“I know you do and you will, or boy, you’ll be facing an extended go-around with my spoon, capiche?”
“Dean, you’ve got a good track record caring for wee ones. You took real good care of Sammy when he was little but little Johnny boy appears to be a hellion on two short legs. You’re going to need to stay on top of your game to keep up with him and to keep him safe.” Bobby pulls Dean away from his chest to be eye to eye, “But don’t take any shit from him, even though big John is your daddy. Deal with him as you would have dealt with Sammy and you’ll do fine.” Bobby hugs Dean tightly.
“For what? Telling you what you already knew. For blistering your ass?”
“I could have done without you setting my ass on fire.”
“Just might’a taken you longer to get my point. This way was faster.”
“Yeah, I got your point, alright,” Dean responds sarcastically. He uses his right palm to massage his stinging butt.
“Are you done?”
“For now,” Dean taunts.
Bobby pats Dean on his rear end twice.
Dean releases his hold on one of the few people he allows to get this close to him.
Bobby steps back from the boy.
Sam steps into the doorway carrying a freshly bathed miniature John Winchester.
John shyly sucks on his lollipop. His right arm drapes around his son’s neck. His left hand holds his reward.
Sam tilts his head. He looks quizzically at his big brother’s red rimmed eyes. Sam catches a glimpse in his peripheral vision of Bobby’s spoon of doom lying on the counter top. “We okay here?” Sam inquires concernedly.
“We’re good. Right, Bobby?” Dean asks jovially as he raises his arms towards John.
John releases Sam’s neck. He outstretches his arms towards Dean.
“You okay, Dad?” Dean takes the handoff.
John turns. He glares at Bobby.
Bobby chuckles, “Last time I saw that look I had just pulled my shotgun on him.”
John pauses. In response to Bobby’s amusement he giggles. He folds his body over Dean’s arms causing his son to tighten his embrace so he doesn’t drop the laughing bundle. John squeals at the upside down view he has of Sam.
“Dad, a little warning next time,” Dean juggles the squirming child.
John raises his body to be face to face with Dean. He opens his eyes wide.
Dean mirrors his father’s expression. He opens his eyes wide.
John opens his mouth wide.
Dean opens his mouth wide.
John shoves his sticky lollipop into Dean’s mouth. He releases his hold on the stick.
Sam and Bobby abruptly burst out laughing at Dean’s surprised expression.
“Funny!” John claps his hands. He giggles.
“Yeah, Dad, very funny,” Dean humorously growls as he wipes the back of his hand across his lips.
John’s giggles transform into a wide open mouth yawn.
“Time for bed little man. We’ve got research to do to get you whole again and you’ve got to plan how you’re going to torment us tomorrow,” Dean amuses.
John smirks slyly at Dean’s statement.
“Shit, you’re doing this on purpose. I can see it in your eyes,” Dean exclaims.
John widens his grin, clear up to his eyes.