A Winchester Christmas
Title: A Winchester Christmas
Author: brassband777
Characters: John, Pastor Jim, Dean (8), Sam (4)
Scenario: wee!chester spanking, discipline fic (parental spanking)
Implement: hand
Summary: On Christmas Eve, Sammy gets overtired by all the excitement. Weechester fluff!
Author's Notes: this fic is dedicated to the awesome Capricorn86, without whom I never would have started writing spanking fics in the first place.
John Winchester shook his head at the mayhem surrounding him. Thirty-five children from the ages of three to twelve were running riot (at least that’s what it seemed like to John) around the large community hall attached to the church. In the midst of the chaos was Pastor Jim, totally unfazed by all the confusion. John wondered if Jim ever regretted his vow of celibacy as he was a natural with children and would have made a wonderful father.
Apparently, Jim held a Christmas Party for the children of his parish every Christmas Eve. John couldn’t help thinking that the man deserved a medal for this, after having only attended for half an hour. Most of the parents were chatting amongst themselves, hardly supervising their youngsters at all. John couldn’t understand this outlook, his attention was constantly drawn to his two children, his only reason for living now that he had lost Mary.
John watched his boys with pride. Dean at eight was already extremely confident and was chatting happily to two boys his own age. Little four-year-old Sammy was his constant shadow. Sam stood slightly behind his big brother, clutching the back of Dean’s sweater in one chubby fist and looking around shyly through his long bangs. John wasn’t worried, he knew that Dean would take care of his little brother.
“Dee…” whispered Sam, tugging on the sweater to get his brother’s attention. When Sam had first learned to talk, he had been unable to pronounce the ‘n’ at the end of his brother’s name and even now that he could say his sibling’s name properly, he rarely did, as his baby speak had become a personal nickname.
“Yeah, Sammy?” questioned Dean, turning his attention immediately to the toddler at his side.
“I’s thirsty,” he mumbled.
“Well we can’t have that,” smiled Dean, “Come on, Sammy, let’s get you some lemonade.”
“Hey, Dean, when you’ve done that, why don’t you drop your brother off with the other babies by the ball pool and we can play with the model airplanes on the table in the corner?” suggested one of the boys that Dean had been talking to.
Dean’s response was instant and automatic, “Nuh-uh, Sammy stays with me. I gotta look after him.” He took the small child’s hand and led him towards the refreshment table at the far side of the hall. An audible huff drew his attention. He looked down at his little brother. Sam’s lower lip was protruding and trembling slightly.
“What’s the matter, Sammy?” he asked concerned.
“I’s not a baby, am I Dee? I wanna be a big boy!” Sam stomped his little foot to emphasize his point.
“Well, do you sleep in a crib?”
“Nuh-uh!” replied the tiny child indignantly.
“Do you drink out of a sippy cup?”
“No! I don’t spill no more!”
“And do you wear diapers?”
No way, Dee!”
Dean grinned. “Then you’re not a baby are you? You’re a big boy.”
Sam smiled up at his brother, both dimples showing. “Yeah, I’s a big boy like my Dee.”
John had revelled in watching his boys for the first hour of the party, which had consisted of all the children being free to choose from the range of toys, games and activities on offer. Watching Sam and Dean playing like ‘normal’ children had tugged on his heartstrings. He hoped against hope that he found Mary’s killer quickly, so that he could give his sons this kind of life all the time.
The second hour of the party had consisted of more traditional party games. Sam had squealed with excitement when he got to unwrap a layer during ‘pass the parcel’ and Dean had been a finalist when playing ‘musical statues’.
The last hour of the party involved the actual party food and John rolled his eyes when he saw all of the cakes, sweets and biscuits on offer.
“You do realise you’re gonna give all these kids a sugar rush?” pointed out John to Jim who was standing by his side.
The pastor shrugged and grinned. “Maybe, but I don’t have to deal with the fall-out.”
John raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Have you forgotten that two of these little troublemakers are staying in your house? If Dean starts bouncing off the walls, you can deal with him.”
Jim chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry, John, I’m sure your two babes will work off all of their excess energy when we go and visit Santa’s grotto this afternoon.”
John was eternally grateful to his friend for inviting them to stay over the festive period. He always struggled with the loss of his beloved wife most during the holidays and yet he was determined to make it a happy time for his boys. John had no doubts that this sons were having a good time and the fun would continue that afternoon when they visited the local fairground, which for the month of December also housed ‘Santa’ and his reindeer. Then the following day, there would be presents (a considerable number thanks to Jim’s and Bobby’s contributions), a Christmas church service and a traditional Christmas dinner.
John watched fondly as his children tucked into the feast. Dean was busy devouring a hotdog, while Sam was eating a bowl of jelly and ice-cream, slopping as much down his front as he was getting in his mouth. He was just about to step up and clean his youngest when Dean beat him to it.
“You’re all sticky, Sammy,” grinned Dean using Sam’s napkin to mop up the worst of the spillage from his clothing and his own napkin to clean his little brother’s face.
Sam giggled and tried to turn his head away. “It tickles, Dee.”
Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural~
An hour and a half had passed since the end of the party. John had been watching his youngest closely for any signs of sleepiness, but so far, the toddler had shown none. He was too hyped up on sugar and excited over the prospect of meeting Santa and going on the fairground rides. Looking at the clock, John knew that if he didn’t put Sammy down for his nap now, there wouldn’t be time and experience had taught him that his baby always needed his nap! He hoped that in the bedroom with no distractions, the little one would succumb to sleep. The four-year-old was busy building a garage for his older brother (although it looked more like a tower and was completely solid) out of Lego.
“Naptime, Sammy.”
“But I’s not tireded, Daddy,” insisted the small boy, his lower lip protruding in a definite pout, “I wanna stay up and play with Dee.”
John shook his head and scooped up his youngest before heading towards the stairs. “You’ve still got to have a nap, Sammy, or you’ll be tired later on and you can play with Dean when you get up.”
“Don’t wanna,” sulked Sam, squirming ineffectually in his father’s arms.
Dean looked up from his toy cars. “Hey, Sammy, you wanna be wide awake to meet Santa don’t you?”
The tiny child nodded, stopping his struggling for a moment as he looked over at his big brother.
“And if you’re tired Sammy, you’ll throw up on the rides and you don’t want that do you?”
Sam shook his head emphatically, making his wavy, chocolate bangs dance on his forehead. “No, Dee, I don’t wanna throwed up on the rides.”
“Then you should have your nap, Sammy.” Dean smiled at his little brother.
“Okay.” Sam waved at his brother and smiled at John. “Are we going upstairs now, Daddy?”
“We sure are, Tiger.” John hid a smile - Dean was so good with Sammy that it never ceased to amaze him. If Dean hadn’t stepped in, John had no doubts that his stubborn youngest would have continued to fight the naptime and John would have had to threaten a spanking to get him to comply.
Once in one of the guest bedrooms, John tugged off the little red sneakers, pulled back the covers and lay Sam down gently in the double bed that he shared with Dean whenever they stayed at the rectory. He carefully pulled the covers back up and kissed the toddler’s cheek.
“Sweet dreams, Sammy.” John exited the room and pulled the door almost closed behind him, leaving a small gap so that he could check on the child later without disturbing him.
Sam wriggled around in the large bed. He wasn’t tired at all! He started humming to himself and tracing over the patterns on the blanket with his finger. Five minutes later he was bored. Sam pushed the covers back and climbed to his feet unsteadily on the springy mattress. The small boy began bouncing on the bed, stifling his giggles with a hand over his mouth, knowing Daddy would be cross if he found out he wasn’t having his nap.
Suddenly Sam lost his balance and tumbled off the bed, landing with a crash on the floor.
Downstairs, John heard the noise and flew up the steps, taking them two at a time. Dean was in the garden with Pastor Jim, so he was unaware of the commotion.
“Sammy?” he called anxiously. John pushed open the bedroom door to find the toddler sitting on the floor rubbing his elbow.
“I felled out of bed, Daddy,” said Sam, looking up at his father with wide innocent eyes.
“Are you okay, Tiger?” asked John softly, lifting the child off the floor and back onto the bed.
Sam shook his head solemnly. “My elbow owwie. Daddy kiss it better?”
“Of course, Champ.” John checked the child over carefully after kissing the offered elbow and was quickly reassured that the boy wasn’t injured. “Now back to sleep.”
Sam lay back down and reached out to grab his teddy-bear, which was sitting on Dean’s pillow. After running a hand gently through his son’s floppy hair, John made his way back downstairs.
John checked on Sam for the third time with a sigh. The kid hadn’t slept at all so far. The first time, Sam had been lying on his back, waving his legs in the air. The second time, he had been singing ‘Twinkle twinkle little star’ very quietly to himself. And this time, Sammy was nothing but a hump under the blankets, but as the lump was moving, it was evident that the toddler was crawling around on the bed.
“Sammy!” said John sternly.
Sam’s tousled head popped out of the top of the covers.
“Hey, Daddy.”
“You’re supposed to be sleeping.” John tried to keep up his stern façade as he seated himself on the edge of the bed, but was unable to as Sam immediately crawled onto his lap and snuggled against his chest.
“I trieded to, Daddy, I promise I did, but no sleeping come.”
John sighed, recognising the fact that the toddler couldn’t physically make himself sleep. The child had stayed in bed and he couldn’t ask for more.
“You’re a good boy, Sammy, but unfortunately, there’s no more time left for your nap, because we gotta get ready to meet Santa now.”
Sam’s hazel eyes widened in excitement and he wriggled off his father’s lap and ran full pelt to find his big brother. “Dee!” he yelled at the top of his little lungs.
John opened his mouth to admonish his youngest for shouting and running in the house, when Jim interrupted him placidly from the doorway. “Leave him be, John, it’s Christmas. Cut him some slack. He’s just over-excited and for that matter so is Dean. Did you notice how restless he’s been waiting for Sam to finish his nap?”
John nodded with a grin. Dean, even though giving the appearance of playing quietly with his cars had constantly kept checking the clock and tapping one foot unconsciously on the carpet as a result of his pent-up energy. He bent down and retrieved Sam’s sneakers, before following his friend down the stairs.
Sam’s high-pitched excited chatter could be heard as they entered the living room. “….and we can tell the reindeers that Daddy’s leavin’ some carrots out for them. I wonder if all the reindeers will be there? I wanna see Rudolph, Dee.”
John’s heart constricted for a moment at the sight. Sam was sitting in Dean’s lap, his chubby baby-face lit up with happiness as he chattered animatedly. Dean had his arms wrapped tightly around his little brother, sporting an ear-splitting grin of his own. Oh, Mary, I wish you could see them now!
John constantly regretted allowing Dean to know from the beginning that his mother had been killed by something supernatural. He had been too consumed with grief to have his wits about him in the immediate aftermath. He was determined not to make the same mistake with Sammy and to protect his youngest from that knowledge for as long as possible. Lamenting the loss of Dean’s innocence was made all the more poignant by the child’s unwavering belief in the fictional Santa Claus. John supposed that seeing as the kid believed in vengeful spirits, poltergeists, banshees and the like then it wasn’t surprising that he could accept a jolly, fat man that could circumvent the Earth in a single night and had reindeer that could fly without question. John wasn’t stupid, he knew that as Dean was eight, this could possibly be the last year that he would still believe and John wanted to hold onto this piece of childhood magic for his eldest for as long as possible.
Dean glanced up and saw his father and Pastor Jim stood in the doorway. “Can we go now, Daddy? Please? Sammy’s up.”
John chuckled. “Sure thing, Ace. Just let me put your brother’s shoes on.”
Dean held out his hand for the sneakers. “I’ll put them on, Daddy.”
Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural~
By the time they got back to the rectory that evening after a totally fun-filled afternoon (John wanted to remember the looks on his kids’ faces when they sat on Santa’s knee forever!), the lack of Sammy’s nap was finally showing. The toddler was extremely cranky and John was going out of his way to be patient, knowing that his baby was completely worn out after all of the excitement of the day. He had already decided that an early bedtime was a necessity, straight after they had eaten supper. Jim had put a casserole in the oven before they left and John was glad that that meant that they wouldn’t have to wait for the meal.
Ten minutes later, they were all sitting around the kitchen table, Sam propped up on two large cushions so that he could reach. John had tried to sit the toddler on his lap, but the child had insisted grumpily that he was a big boy and wanted his own chair.
“Come on, Sammy,” coaxed John when the child still hadn’t eaten anything by the time they were halfway through the meal. “You’ll be hungry.”
“I’s not hungry!” huffed the toddler, folding his little arms across his chest.
“Hey, Sammy, if you don’t want it, I’ll eat it,” put in Dean, hoping to trick his little brother into eating something.
“No, Dee! It’s mine! You not have it!”
Dean smirked at his success until he realised that the four-year-old still wasn’t eating.
“You don’t have to eat it all, Sammy, just a little bit,” coaxed John, using his own fork to separate a small portion of casserole on the child’s plate.
“No!” Sam’s lower lip was now protruding in a pout.
John interjected a note of sternness into his voice. “I want you to eat that bit now, Sam!”
John recognised the signs of an oncoming tantrum when Sam’s little face turned red and he clenched his chubby fists before letting out an angry scream. A split second later however, before John could react, the small boy picked up his plate and hurled it onto the floor. The plate shattered on impact, scattering casserole everywhere. The plate was immediately followed by Sam’s cup of milk and he then reached for the ketchup bottle.
In two strides, John was off his seat and by the tantrumming toddler’s side.
“Stop that right now, Sam!” he ordered sternly.
John quickly lifted the small, flailing child to his chest with one arm and applied two, sharp, stinging swats to the jean-clad bottom, halting the tantrum instantly in its tracks. He then re-seated himself on the chair that he had vacated and sat the toddler on his lap. Sam’s eyes were filled with tears, both from the tantrum and the swats, but they didn’t fall.
Dean surveyed the mess on the kitchen floor with wide eyes, before glancing back at his father and now quiet little brother. Uh-oh, Sammy’s butt’s going to be toast!
Normally, during a tantrum, as long as Sam didn’t hurt anyone or damage property, John would just ignore the child until he had tantrummed himself out. He also felt bad, because he knew that his baby was completely overtired and overwrought, but he couldn’t let Sam think that it was acceptable to behave as he just had. The swats had simply been to get his attention and stop the tantrum, but sadly, John recognised that a proper spanking was in order, though he wouldn’t make it a harsh one.
“Look at what you did, Sammy,” instructed John sternly, “you’ve wasted good food…nobody can eat it now, because it’s dirty, you’ve made a mess all over the floor which needs cleaning up and you broke Pastor Jim’s plate and cup. I want you to say sorry.”
The small boy sniffled and looked up through his bangs. “I’s really sorry, Pastor Jim. I didn’t mean to.”
John too was watching his good friend - the man had the patience of a saint! - the pastor didn’t seem at all perturbed by this turn of events.
“That’s okay, Sammy. Apology accepted,” Jim aimed for a reassuring tone, as he could see that the child was now upset, though knowing John Winchester as he did, he strongly suspected that the baby of the family was not going to get off so lightly. John’s next words confirmed this.
“Now, Sammy, I’m afraid I’m going to have to spank you and then it’s straight to bed.”
“Nooooo, Daddy, don’t want no spanking!” wailed the toddler as his father deftly, but gently flipped him face-down over his knees.
John quickly slid down Sam’s jeans and Sesame Street underwear, revealing a small bottom that already held a slight hint of pink from the two swats he’d received. John snapped his hand down sharply across Sam’s butt-cheeks, having no difficulty covering both of them completely with his large hand. Sammy squealed. He applied another five spanks to the same area, quickly turning the skin a bright, rosy red. Sam started sobbing and kicking his chubby legs after swat number three.
John talked as he spanked. “I know you’re really tired, Sammy, but you can’t just throw and break things when you’re angry.”
“Owwwie, D-daddy, h-hurts, I’s sorry….”
“I know you are, Sammy, but I still have to spank your bottom, because you were naughty.” John hated disciplining his children - he could feel Sam’s whole tiny body shaking with the force of his sobs. He knew that he wasn’t spanking that hard, but his baby boy always took physical chastisement to heart.
Jim glanced at Dean. John’s eldest had put down his knife and fork and was watching the proceedings closely. The eight-year-old’s face was an open book - the child looked so distressed and sorrowful that you would think that he was the one getting spanked and not his little brother. Jim also noted that the boy flinched slightly every time a stinging swat landed on Sam’s buttocks.
Jim reached out and rested a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Your brother’s okay, Dean, you don’t need to worry,” he soothed.
“I know,” murmured Dean, “and I know he deserves it, but I still hate seeing him hurting.”
“Nearly done now, Sammy.” John ended the spanking by raising one knee and applying four sharp swats to his youngest’s sensitive sit-spots. As gently as possible, John pulled Sam’s underwear and clothing back up over the throbbing, smarting skin before quickly gathering the snivelling four-year-old into his arms.
“You’re okay now, Tiger. Let’s get you into bed, you’ve had a long, busy day,” he soothed.
John placed the child on his hip and stood up, automatically supporting the child’s weight with one arm under his buttocks. Sam whimpered and squirmed in discomfort at the pressure, although the sound was muffled as he had his head buried in his dad’s shoulder and his little arms wrapped around the broad chest, hugging tightly. John picked up on it immediately however and shifted his arm to across Sam’s lower back instead, even though it was more awkward to carry the child this way. His other hand was gently stroking through the toddler’s tousled locks.
John turned to Dean who was still watching them. “Why don’t you finish your supper, Ace and then come up in ten minutes to help tuck your brother in?”
Ever since Sam had been born, Mary had introduced the family ritual where they all tucked their youngest in and kissed him goodnight. Even after her death, John had kept up the tradition, he and Dean tucking in Sammy and then tucking Dean in later when his bedtime rolled around. John always cherished and looked forward to this close, ‘normal’ family time every evening.
Dean nodded, studying his crying little brother anxiously. “Okay, Daddy.” He obediently picked up his knife and fork to continue eating.
John noted his Dean’s concern and his heart was warmed by the devotion of his eldest towards his youngest. “Sammy’s okay, Deano,” he reassured, “he’s just totally worn out and needs a nice long sleep.”
“I know he’s tired Daddy,” replied the eight-year-old matter-of-factly, “it’s ‘cause he didn’t have his nap.”
John chuckled. Of course he didn’t need to explain, - Dean, as always, knew exactly what was up with his baby brother. He turned and made his way up the stairs.
Once in the boys’ shared bedroom, John sat down and reached for Sammy’s spiderman pyjamas and tried to disentangle the child from him, intending to get him ready for bed before the mandatory post-spanking cuddles, as he recognised that comforting the child would no doubt send him to sleep.
Sam however held on resolutely, John’s shirt clutched tightly in his chubby hands and his sobs increased in volume.
“W-w-want D-daddy,” he hiccoughed.
John immediately stopped trying to remove the toddler from his lap, not wanting to distress the child further and hugged the boy to his chest instead, one hand beginning to rub soothing circles on the small, trembling back.
“Shhh, Sammy, you’re okay. Daddy’s not going anywhere.” He resigned himself to comforting first - it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to dress Sammy while he was asleep.
Once Sam realised that his Dad wasn’t going to move him, he turned his head to the side, resting his tearstained cheek on John’s chest and slipped his thumb into his mouth. John began to card his fingers through the boy’s hair, continuing murmuring soothingly to him and was rewarded when he felt the toddler relax against him. Sam’s eyelids were drooping, long lashes resting against his flushed cheeks for longer and longer periods of time before fluttering open.
“Daddy loves you, Sammy. Always remember that.” John dropped a tender kiss on the top of Sam’s head.
“I wuv oo too, ‘addy,” Sam’s response was completely muffled due to his thumb that remained fixed firmly in his mouth. Sam’s eyelashes slipped closed and this time didn’t open.
John set about removing the boy’s clothes realising that preventing the boy’s sore rear from connecting with anything while he did so, greatly complicated matters.
Dean appeared in the doorway. “Sammy asleep, Daddy?”
John nodded. “You wanna pass me his pjs, Ace?”
As John carefully slipped the pyjama bottoms over Sam’s backside, the small boy grumbled his discomfort and roused slightly. On seeing his big brother, he forced his eyelids open properly and blinked sleepily.
“Dee….”
“You okay, Sammy?” asked Dean as his Dad gently placed him in the bed on his side.
Sam shook his head and gave a big yawn. “Nuh-uh, my heinie hurts, Dee.”
“That’s ‘cause you were naughty, Sammy,” explained Dean patiently, “It’ll stop hurting soon, I promise, and when you wake up, Santa will have been.”
Instead of being reassured, Sam’s face immediately crumpled and his eyes filled with tears once more.
“What’s the matter, Baby?” asked John concerned, immediately gathering the child into his arms.
“Santa won’t come!” wailed the distraught child, “He doesn’t come to naughty children!”
“Hush now, Sammy, of course Santa’s going to come, isn’t he, Dean?”
Dean nodded and Sam calmed down slightly. If his big brother said it, then it must be true.
“Now listen to me, Sammy, you’re a good boy. What you did, your action, was naughty, but you’ve been spanked, so that’s forgiven now and that means it’s forgotten too.”
Sam remembered Pastor Jim saying in church last week that when Jesus forgave your sins they were forgotten. He wasn’t sure what sins were, but maybe that meant forgetting always came with forgiveness?
“Okay, Daddy,” Sam smiled relieved up at his father - he was still going to get presents! - before slipping his thumb back into his mouth.
John tucked the child back into bed, drawing the covers up to his chin.
“Goodnight, Tiger.”
Dean leaned over and kissed Sam’s cheek, which was still damp and tasted salty from his tears.
“Night, Sammy, Don’t let the bedbugs bite and if they do, bite ‘em back.”
John switched on the small lamp on the bedside table, as Sammy was still afraid of the dark. He then scooped Dean up into his arms, before leaving the room and turning off the light.
“Hey, I’m too big to carry,” protested the eight-year-old, squirming in his father’s hold.
“You’ll be too big to carry when you get too heavy for me to pick up and not before,” chuckled John, moving his free hand and tickling the wriggling child’s ribs as they descended the stairs.
Dean’s delighted giggles were the last thing that Sam heard as his eyelids slid closed and sleep finally claimed him.