Lady M (lady_m_319) wrote,
Lady M

Midnight Movie Marathon 1/3

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.


Dean Winchester sits on one of the two cheap white plastic chairs outside the motel room door.  His body slumps forward, forearms rest on his thighs, hands grip together in front of him, butt lifts slightly off the seat, and feet swing nervously back and forth.  He doesn’t want to be anywhere near here right now, but his protective instinct for Sammy tells him to stay close, so he placed the chair near the door but in front of the window as his father had directed.


He listens carefully to the sounds coming from inside the motel room.  He hears the low stern voice of his dad, but he can’t tell what’s being said or what is happening.  He should have seen this coming between Sammy and Dad and diffused the situation but it escalated so fast, it caught Dean off guard.  How could he have known Sammy would do that?  It’s been years.


Dean’s brought out of his thoughts when a shadow crosses over his form.  “Hey Dean,” Bobby Singer breaks the silence as he gives a gentle squeeze to Dean’s slumped shoulder. 


Without looking up, Dean responds with a somber, “Hi, Uncle Bobby.”


A person didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to know something was amiss.  “What’s up?  Why the long face?”  Bobby pulls the other plastic chair over next to Dean’s and sits down.


Just then, the motel door opens about twelve inches and then abruptly slams shut.  A loud smack of skin hitting skin is heard inside followed by a howl and additional commotion.


Bobby asks knowingly, “Sammy?”


Dean turns his head towards Bobby without moving the rest of his body and nods, confirming, Sammy.


“What’d the little munchkin do this time?”


Bobby lets the question hang and waits in silence to see if Dean wants to elaborate.  He knows how devoted Dean is to Sam and that it eats Dean up inside whenever Sammy’s punished, especially if he’s the cause of Sam’s disciplinary predicament.  At eight years old, Dean takes the care and protection of his little brother very seriously.


After a few minutes of staring at the concrete below his feet, Dean winces and states, “I think I kind’a started it and it was kind’a my fault.”  He turns towards Bobby and receives an encouraging nod, so he begins to recap the morning events.




John Winchester wakes to the booming announcer’s voice from the Sci-Fi channel on television, advertising the remainder of its midnight to noon monster movie marathon.  It is an annoying jingle he has been hearing for days and can’t get out of his head.  He had fallen asleep last night while trying to get the weather conditions for the hunt he and Bobby Singer are leaving on today and must have left the TV playing.


He stands in front of the screen, hoping the local weather will come on next.  Instead Godzilla is taking on Mothra.  This isn’t the weather channel.  He needs coffee.  He snaps the set off and begins his morning activities in the kitchen area.


The motel room is an open, long rectangle shape consisting of three distinct areas and a full bath. The kitchen area, at one short end of the rectangle, is furnished with table, chairs, cabinets, coffee maker and refrigerator, followed by the carpeted living area, which consists of two well-worn but comfortable sofa chairs.  Two double beds are at the far end, with the television set placed between the living area and the bedroom area.  The bathroom door is on the far wall in the center between the beds.  


Normally it only takes four year old Sammy Winchester a few minutes to get his morning legs under him but this morning, he is unusually out of sorts and doesn’t want to leave the comfort of his warm bed. 


Dean prods and pokes him. “Sammy, get up.  Come on, Sammy.  Please.” Sam keeps his eyes closed, waving his little hands haphazardly at Dean, swatting him away. 


With less pleading and more matter of fact in his voice, Dean asserts, “Sammy, Dad said it’s time for breakfast and we need to get up.  We don’t want him to find out.  Now get up.” 


With that said, Dean pulls the covers back, and with the determined tug of a leg and arm, pulls Sam off the bed and onto the floor.  Dean waits for the wail, but it doesn’t come. 


Sammy is mad.  With an angry squint in his eyes, he gets up off the floor, gives Dean one strong kick to the shin and runs to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.


Dean makes a motion towards the closed door but glances over his shoulder to eye his father at the kitchen table.  His younger brother is being a big baby, but he isn’t looking to get his dad’s attention so early in the morning.  He pounds a fist against the bathroom door once to keep Sammy guessing and proceeds to the kitchen area.


Dean sets two cereal bowls and spoons on the kitchen table.  From the cabinet he gets down the box of Lucky Charms and snags the milk from the refrigerator.  Seated at the end of the table, John is scanning the morning newspaper for any additional information regarding this next hunt. 


Dean pours what ends up being the last of the Lucky Charms into the bowl placed in front of his seat.  He shakes the box, turns it over and looks inside to confirm it is empty.  With hesitation, he gets down from his chair and retrieves the box of Sugar Pops cereal from the cabinet.  He climbs back up onto his chair at the table and leans across to fill the second cereal bowl with the Sugar Pops.


Dean sits down in his seat, yawns and contemplates his next move.  First off, Sammy’s favorite cereal is Lucky Charms.  Second, Sammy is in a pissy mood.  And third, Sammy had kicked Dean earlier before running and hiding in the bathroom like a little girl.  Dean looks slyly at the still closed bathroom door, pours milk into his bowl of Charms, and begins to chow down with gusto.


John tilts his head, thinking.  He is glad he didn’t bet on who would be having the last of the Lucky Charms for breakfast.


After what seems like forever, Sammy quietly opens the bathroom door and scans the room for any threat of reprisal for his behavior.  His dad’s in the kitchen with Dean, so it should be safe.  He makes his way to his usual kitchen chair, hops up and stares blankly at what is in front of him.  He looks up at his father, at Dean, and then at what Dean’s ravenously scooping into his mouth. 


Sam announces plainly, “I want Lucky Charms.” 


Dean smirks but continues to eat. 


John puts his paper down and braces for the fallout to come.  “Sorry, kiddo, it’s Sugar Pops for you today.  I’ll get more Lucky Charms when I make the next supply run.”


Pounding his fists on the table, Sam demands, “I want Lucky Charms!  Dean has Lucky Charms.”


John can feel the tantrum gathering energy and needs to cut it off now.  “Samuel there are no more Lucky Charms, so you’ll eat what’s in your bowl and be quiet about it.” 


With finality, John raises the newspaper back up and continues with his research. 


Sam sits back, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and shoots Dean the death glare of all death glares. 


Dean stops eating, raises his head up and gives Sam an incredibly smug grin, shaking his head at him just enough to be noticed.  Dean continues spooning the cereal into his mouth, chewing vigorously, still grinning widely.


Sam, tired and now hungry, decides on a course of action.  He leans forward, sticks both his small, chubby hands into the bowl of Sugar Pops and tosses one handful across the table, hitting both Dean and the back of John’s newspaper.  John blinks in surprise, lowering his newspaper, only to get hit in the face with the second barrage of cereal.


After the first missile attack, Dean moves away from the table, laughing hysterically because the second handful of cereal missed him completely.


Dean’s reaction sets Sammy in motion.  Sammy stands on his chair and dives across the table, hands reaching out towards Dean.  He is caught mid-pounce by his angry Dad. 


As John places Sam back on his chair, he sharply barks, “Sam, sit!  Dean, quiet!” 


There is a moment of silence as John looks left to right at both his boys.  Then the silence is broken with both yelling and pointing of fingers. 


“He threw me on the floor!” 


“He kicked me!”


“He ate…”


John cuts them both off with a loud ENOUGH.  When had he lost control of the situation?  John knows he needs to regain it and quickly.


John stands, moves behind Sam’s chair, grabs Sam by his upper arms, and stands him on the chair seat while swinging him around to face him.  He bends Sam over the back of the chair, and lays three stinging smacks against his son’s small pajama-covered bottom.  These are attention getting swats, not necessarily for punishment.


Sam lets out a cry of anguish.  John turns him around and sits the youngster back down, following up with the command “Stay”.  John glances over at Dean, who is watching the proceedings with wide-eyed intensity.


As John maintains his gaze on Dean, he moves around the table.  Dean anticipates his fate and holds up his hands in an innocent gesture, asking in a panicky voice, “Dad, what’d I do?”


John pauses for a split second.  What had Dean done?  Something was up between the two boys.  He had heard the earlier conversation about not wanting Dad to find out.  But find out what, he doesn’t know yet.


“Dean you’re the oldest, and you should know better than to needle and tease your little brother.  Sammy’s actions are his own, but you contributed to the situation.” 


With that said, John takes hold of Dean’s left bicep and guides him off the chair to stand on the cold floor.  Sugar Pops crunch under foot.  He stands Dean in front of him, leaning him against his left thigh, producing a target for three smarting swats to Dean’s posterior.  Dean lets out a soft moan, but doesn’t cry out.  At eight years old, Dean is already practicing keeping his feelings under control.


John turns Dean around and gives him a gentle push towards the chair, indicating he should sit down.  Sammy’s outburst has quieted to an occasional sniffle and a yawn, but both boys sit with their arms crossed over their chests, glowering at each other.       


“I don’t know what has gotten into you two this morning, but it is going to stop right now.  Do you understand me?”


The swats they had both received leave Dean and Sam uncomfortable in their seats, and hearing John’s stern tone, the boys know they pushed their father too far.  With their eyes locked on each other, they both slowly nod an affirmative.


“I can’t hear you.”


In unison, the boys clearly pronounce, “Yes, sir.”


“Finish your breakfast and then corner time for both of you.”  Their groans are cut short by the threatening glare they receive from their father, followed by the question, “Would you prefer your time be over my knee?”


Two quick “No, sirs,” follow. 


John’s satisfied he’s back in control, and returns to his paper, occasionally glancing over at his two discontent children.


Sam rests his head on one hand, and between spoonfuls of pops, come uncontrollable yawns.  Dean, too, is looking far more tired than he should and John begins to wonder if the crankiness and irritability of the morning is due to illness.  He feels their foreheads but both are cool.  He’ll keep an eye on this in case there is a change for the worse.  At their age, temperatures can soar without notice.


When the boys have completed their breakfast and cleaned up the majority of the loose Sugar Pops, John escorts them to the far wall near the beds, pointing them each towards a corner.  “Okay, boys.  You know the drill.  To your corners and don’t move until I tell you.”  He lays a gentle swat to their butts, sending them scurrying towards their separate corners.


There are clear rules regarding corner time.  Each boy is to stand at attention with his hands and arms down at his sides.  No leaning on the wall.  No talking or looking around.  Eyes on the wall and if they’d just been spanked, there was to be no rubbing of sore behinds.


Dean hates corner time.  It means he screwed up and got caught.  It also means his dad is displeased with him, and this leaves an uncomfortable pit in his stomach.  He is usually okay with the rules, except the no rubbing one can be a real challenge, especially if he’d just received a firm spanking.  Dad always seems to catch him sneaking a rub and it just gets him more swats and longer corner time.


Sammy spends his time in the corner fidgeting while trying to follow the rules.  There’s usually tears falling from his eyes, because he knows to be put in this position, he’s made his daddy unhappy, and that makes Sammy sad.  But today is different.  There are no tears.  Today, Sam is in this predicament because of Dean, and that makes Sam mad.


John finishes the paper, checks his watch, and walks back to where the boys are waiting out their exile. 


“Boys, come here.” 


With their heads down, they both scamper across the carpeted floor to stand in front of their father.  With his hands in his front jean pockets, John stands towering over the boys. He asks firmly, “Are we finished with this morning’s nonsense?” 


“Yes, sir,” both boys reply earnestly, while nodding an affirmative.


“I need to get supplies organized in the kitchen for the hunt.  You can play quietly and when I’m done, we’ll spend an hour at the park before Bobby gets here.”


“Can we watch TV?” Sammy asks softly.


“Yes.  Quietly.”


Sammy clicks on the TV.  As John turns and walks to the kitchen, he hears that annoying jingle and Dean rejoicing, “Hey Sammy, we can finish watching the monster movies.”


“No!  Cartoons.”  Sammy quickly changes the channel.


“Movies, Sammy,” Dean firmly states, and changes the channel back.


“CARTOONS!”  Sammy yells, changing the channel once again.  This time he holds his hand over the knob to keep his brother from getting to it.


“MOVIES!”  Dean yells back.  He pushes Sammy out of the way a little harder than expected and changes the channel.


With their momentum, both boys fall to the floor. A loud scuffle ensues, getting John’s attention.  Dean and Sam are rolling around on the floor, with arms and legs kicking and punching. 


John yells, “BOYS!”


He is ignored.  John needs to finish getting ready for the hunt and this is just topping off the morning’s activities.  He can’t leave for the hunt with the boys in this state. 


An angry John crosses the room in three long strides to stand in the middle of combat.  Dean’s maneuvered himself on top of Sam.  John slides his arm around Dean’s waist, so as he lifts him off of Sam, Dean’s butt is presented for three stinging swats.  Dean yelps in surprise and quickly gets his feet under him. His hands scoot protectively behind him as John sets him down.


Sammy is lying on his back on the floor with his eyes shut tight, still kicking and punching the air.  John grabs Sam by the left bicep and helps him to his feet.  Holding onto his upper arm, he gives his youngest the same three stinging swats his older brother had just received.  Sammy lets out a wail and immediately covers his butt to protect from any further chastisement.  Dean is standing in front of John on his left, so John stands Sammy in front of him on his right side, creating a neutral zone of space between the two. 


With a loud stern voice, John barks, “Dean, report.”


Dean shifts his feet and starts explaining. “I wanted to finish watching the monster movie marathon, but Sammy…” Dean hesitates and shoots his brother a glare.


“DEAN!” John growls, breaking the silence.


“Sorry, sir.  But, Sammy wanted to watch cartoons.  We started fighting.”


Just then, the annoying jingle starts playing on the TV again.  John pauses to think; the crankiness, the irritability, the fighting, and the tiredness, hmm.


“Dean, what did you mean when you said ‘finish watching the monster movie marathon’?”  John stares at Dean and waits.


Dean stares at his feet.  Sammy fidgets. 


“Dean, I asked you a direct question.  What did you mean when you said ‘finish watching the monster movie marathon’?”


Silence.  This is direct insubordination.  John grabs Dean by his shoulder, turns him to the side, and places eight firm swats to the boy’s clenched buttocks.  Dean grunts, letting out the breath he is holding.  Facing John with unshed tears in his eyes, he inhales deeply and with a big exhale, proceeds.


“After you fell asleep last night, Sammy and I stayed up to watch the monster movie marathon on television.”


Dean pauses, inhales, and then pleads, “It was my idea.  I made Sammy watch.”  Even after the kicking, the cereal tossing, and the fist fighting, Dean tries to protect his baby brother.  In response, his father holds up his hand, signaling Dean to stop.


In a calm but stern voice, John declares, “So, you both put your health at risk by not following your assigned bedtimes.  Sammy watched movies that you both know he is too young to watch.  You both tried to cover it up, which is essentially lying to me, and you both put tonight’s hunt at risk with this morning’s disruptive behavior.   Am I missing anything?”


 “No, sir,” the boys respond apprehensively in unison, staring at their feet.


John usually punishes Dean first, especially when both his sons are in need of a sore bottom.  Sammy is antsy and fidgeting, more so since watching Dean get the last few swats.  Kids Sam’s age are known to hyperventilate when faced with the anticipation of an impending spanking.  John decides to alleviate his youngest son’s anxiety. 


He reaches across Sam’s body with his right hand, and grabs Sammy’s right wrist.  Sam’s eyes go wide.  John turns to Dean, directing, “Dean, plant yourself in a corner while I, AHH!”

John lets out a hiss of pain, stopping in mid-sentence.  He looks down at his right wrist to see Sammy’s teeth sunk deeply into the flesh there.  Dean’s jaw drops in horror. 


John growls, “Samuel Winchester, stop that!”  No response. “Samuel, NOW!”   Still no response.


John tries to lift his arm up, but only succeeds in lifting Sam off his feet, teeth still clenched tightly around his wrist.  The kid has some really strong jaw muscles.  John hasn’t been faced with a biting youngster in years and, even then, he put a stop to it rather quickly with a few well placed swats, followed by corner time with a soapy mouth, and then lots of hugs afterwards.  Hugs will come later.  Right now, he needs to get his son unattached from his arm without hurting Sam’s teeth. 


John reaches over with his left hand and pinches Sam’s nose to force the boy to take a breath through his mouth.  At that moment, John dislodges his wrist from Sam’s grip.  While rubbing his wrist, John closes his eyes, counting to ten, to get his anger under control before he addresses his youngest.  In that split second, Sammy makes a run for it and dives under the nearest bed. 


Still gaping, Dean looks down where his brother disappeared and then back at his Dad.  This is so not good.


“Samuel, while I punish Dean, I’m going to let you stay under the bed, so you can think about what you’ve done.  When I return, you’ll get until the count of three to face me, or you’ll be one very sorry little boy.”


“Dean.  Kitchen.  Now.” 

End of Part 1.

Tags: bobby, john, john spanks dean, john spanks sam, supernatural fan fic, wee!chesters
  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded