Visiting the Granparents Part 3
Title: Visiting the Grandparents (part 3)
Author: brassband777
Characters: Mary, Samuel Campbell, Deanna Campbell, Dean (11), Sam (7)
Scenario: wee!chester spanking, discipline fic (parental spanking)
Implement: hand, hairbrush.
Summary: When visiting his grandparents, Samuel shows Dean a firearm with nearly disastrous results.
Author's Notes: this fic was suggested by the awesome Capricorn86, who challenged me to write an AU where Mary was still alive. In this AU, Mary was brought up as a hunter, but her family never had any dealings with the YED. She has kept the truth of the existence of the supernatural from both her husband and her children. Prompt: ‘Would you consider doing a fic where Mary takes Sam and Dean for a visit to her parents? Could include both Samuel and Deanna, or just one of them’.
Beta’d by: the wonderful Capricorn86 - thanks for your input and support!
When the bedroom door was flung open unexpectedly and Sam bounced into the room, Dean jumped, startled. The pistol slipped from his grasp and it was simple reflexes that made Dean grab for it. Unfortunately, he accidentally caught the trigger.
A number of things happened in the next second: The gun went off, the report so loud that it hurt both boys’ ears, added to this commotion was their twin shocked screams, Sam stumbled backwards in fright and tripped over his own feet, going down hard and downstairs both Mary and Deanna leapt to their feet.
Dean saw his little brother lying on the floor and burst into tears. He’d shot his Sammy!
Without thought, Dean just let the gun drop from his hands onto the floor, as he stumbled over to the little boy sprawled on the floor and pulled him into his arms.
“Sammy?” Dean was frantic.
Sam clung to his big brother, tears pouring down his chubby cheeks. He was crying not only from fright, but also because he’d hurt his knees and elbows when he fell. “W-what was that, D-dee?”
Pale-faced, Mary reached the door to her sons’ room, her heart racing, her hunting instincts on high alert, ready to take on anything that was threatening her beloved children. She was certain that what they had heard had been a gunshot. For a moment she couldn’t make sense of the scene before her - her sons were on the floor hugging each other and crying, but she couldn’t see the gun-wielding human or supernatural fiend that had caused that response.
Mary dropped to her knees beside the distraught boys. “Are you hurt?” she asked urgently, visually checking them both over, her relief was overwhelming at finding no signs of any blood.
Dean turned a tear-streaked face towards her. “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. I nearly…” He choked on his sobs, unable to continue, instead, he buried his face in his little brother’s floppy chestnut hair.
“Mary.” Deanna’s soft voice caught her attention. Mary glanced up at her mother, who had entered the bedroom a couple of seconds after her daughter.
Deanna nodded towards the silver pistol lying on the floor and then towards the bed where the open box lay. Mary followed her mother’s gaze, realising immediately what had happened and blanched even more. The reality that one of her babies could so easily have been shot finally came crashing down and trembling, she wrapped her arms around her children, crushing them both to her chest, fighting her own tears.
Without a word, Deanna picked up the pistol and removed the remaining bullets, before replacing it in its box and carrying it out of the room. If Dean had been watching, he would have wondered how his grandma knew how to unload a firearm. As it was, the eleven-year-old was clinging to both his mother and baby brother for dear life, unable to catch his breath due to the intensity of his tears.
Mary knew that she needed to address what had happened, but right now, it was necessary to calm Dean down as he was close to hyperventilating. She clamped down on her own raging emotions, focussing solely on the needs of her child.
“Dean, baby, listen to me. You need to calm down. You’re okay.”
“I n-n-nearly k-k-killed, S-sammy.”
“Sammy’s fine, Honey.” She ran a soothing hand up and down Dean’s spine and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
Sam frowned. How had Dean nearly killed him? There’d only been a scary, loud noise and he’d fallen over. He tried to sit up, but his big brother wouldn’t let go of him. Dean’s arm was locked tight around him, his other arm wrapped around their mom.
“Dee?” Now that Sam had calmed down from his fright, it registered for the first time that his big brother was sobbing. Sam was really really worried - Dean rarely cried.
Sam looked up at his mother. “Is Dee okay, Momma?” the little boy’s expression was fearful and troubled.
“Dean’s gonna be just fine, Sammy. Don’t worry. He’s just had a bit of a shock, that’s all,’” she reassured gently, reaching out her hand and running it through his long, silky bangs.
Sam tilted his face upwards and kissed Dean’s damp cheek. “Please don’t be sad, Dee. You didn’t kill me, I just tripped up. Please don’t cry.”
“I n-n-nearly sh-shot y-y-you,” Dean sobbed brokenly, hugging his little brother even tighter.
Dean had nearly shot him? Where had Dean gotten a gun from? Sam chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, he supposed that would explain the horrifically loud bang.
It took a long time, but eventually Mary managed to calm her eldest down. Dean finally slackened his hold on both his Mom and brother and sat up sniffing.
“Mom, I….”
Mary cut him off gently, “We’ll deal with this later, Dean.” She took both her children by the hand and led them downstairs and into the kitchen. Wanting to counteract the shock, she gave them both a glass of orange juice to which she had added two spoonfuls of sugar.
Once she had relocated them to the living room and settled them in front of the TV, she retreated to the sanctuary of her bedroom. Only then did she allow herself to break down. Mary put her head in her hands and sobbed, her shoulders shaking with the force of her emotions.
Deanna quietly entered the room and sat down on the bed, pulling her daughter into her arms.
“What if I’d lost them, Mom?” Mary sobbed, “I couldn’t bear that!”
“But, you didn’t,” soothed Deanna, gently stroking her daughter’s hair.
Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural
The incident had taken place at just after 10:30 that morning and it was now 3pm. Mary glanced across at her eldest, who was helping Sammy to complete his Tom and Jerry jigsaw. Thankfully, the boy was completely calm, but she could tell he was extremely tired, which wasn’t surprising after the emotional rollercoaster that he had been on that morning. Mary had considered leaving disciplining him until the following day, but felt that it was better to get it over with. She also recognised that after being spanked, the child would undoubtedly sleep, which was what he needed.
“There, Sammy,” said Dean, handing his little brother the last jigsaw piece.
Sam smiled his two-dimpled smile and slotted it into place. “Thanks, Dee, you’re the best!”
Mary caught her mother’s eye and then called to her youngest. “Sammy, I want you to go into the kitchen with Grandma while I talk to Dean.”
Sam hesitated and glanced at his big brother. He wasn’t stupid, he knew Dean was in trouble for what he’d done earlier. He may only be seven, but he’d already figured out that the word ‘talk’ was sometimes a euphemism for punishment.
“Come on, Sammy,” Deanna took the small boy’s hand. “How does some milk and cookies sound?”
“But….”
“It’s okay, Sammy,” murmured Dean quietly, “You go with Grandma. Make sure you leave me some cookies!”
Once her mother and youngest had entered the kitchen, Mary patted the cushion next to her on the sofa. Dean obediently sat down next to her, but kept his gaze firmly fixed on his hands which he was twisting in his lap.
Mary studied him for a moment, considering how best to approach this. She was certain that Dean already knew what he had done wrong and that he now fully understood the possible devastating repercussions of his actions, even if he hadn’t beforehand.
“Dean, baby, look at me.”
Dean slowly raised his gaze to meet his mother’s.
“I’m gonna tell you a story. I realize that you thought I was being unfair not letting you learn to shoot when I learned when I was your age…”
Dean broke in, shaking his head, “No, you were right! You said they were dangerous and I didn’t believe you. I thought they’d only be dangerous if you were careless or stupid with them.”
Mary nodded, “I imagine that’s what most people think, but the problem is that accidents happen, Dean. Can you tell me what happened today?” Mary didn’t believe for one second that her eldest would have been irresponsible enough to deliberately pull the trigger on a firearm.
Dean nodded. “I was just looking at it, but then Sammy came in…he was supposed to be watching Thundercats, so I wasn’t expecting him and when he flung open the door I dropped the gun, so I tried to catch it, but when I did, it went off.”
“And where did you get the gun, Dean?” Mary already knew what the answer to that question must be, but she wanted it confirming.
“Gramps’ study,” he mumbled, glancing down guiltily.
“How did you know that gun existed?”
Dean glanced back up, his gaze troubled. “I…well….” His granddad had asked him to keep it a secret! What was he supposed to do?
So far, Mary’s tone had been gentle, now she injected it with sternness. “I want to know, Dean!”
“Gramps showed it to me, but he told me I wasn’t allowed to touch it because I hadn’t been trained. He told me not to tell.”
Mary closed her eyes momentarily. Having her suspicions confirmed didn’t make her feel any better. She knew that if either of her children had been injured, she would never have forgiven her father.
“Okay, thank you for being honest. Now I’m going to explain why I hate guns so much….When I was fifteen, I had a best friend called, Kate. We were inseparable and both of us went shooting for a hobby…” Mary deliberately left out the fact that Kate was also the daughter of a hunter “….but one day, her gun just misfired and she died.” Mary also didn’t explain that it had happened in front of her and that she had been covered in her friend’s blood after the explosion. Unbeknownst to Mary, a few tears escaped as she inadvertently relived the horrific memories, but Dean noticed.
“Oh Mom, I’m sorry. How awful.” Dean wrapped his arms around his mother to try and comfort her. “So that’s why you gave it up, not because you were a girl.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Mary felt her lips quirking up into a smile at Dean’s innocent assumption.
She hugged him back tightly for a moment, before pulling away. “Now we need to deal with your behaviour, young man.”
Dean nodded and bit his lip, waiting.
“I want you to go to your room and change into your pyjamas, because you will be spending the rest of the day in bed. I will be up in a minute.”
Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural
Mary entered the kitchen and walked over to the table where her youngest was busy slurping his milk.
“Is Dee okay?” Sam asked anxiously. He hadn’t heard any smacking sounds. Maybe his brother wasn’t going to get a spanking after all?
“Dean’s just fine, Sammy. Don’t worry,’” she reassured gently, patting his head, “I’ve sent him to bed for the rest of the day though, so you won’t be able to play with him.” Mary hid a smile at the milk moustache coating the child’s upper lip.
“I know he was naughty, but can I take him some cookies and milk?”
“In a little while, Baby. When I come back down again.” Mary caressed his cheek gently as she dropped a kiss on the top of his head before turning to her mother. “Mom, can I please borrow your hairbrush? I only brought my small travel one with me.”
Deanna nodded. She knew that her daughter’s request didn’t bode well for Dean, as Mary certainly wasn’t looking to brush her long, luscious golden locks!
Mary entered her parents’ bedroom and opened the top drawer of the dressing table as instructed. There, nestled in the corner, was not just any hairbrush, but the large, oval, wooden-backed one that she remembered well from her childhood. Mary hesitantly lifted it out. It was heavy in her hand. She couldn’t believe that it had lasted all these years.
Dean looked up as Mary entered the room. He was dressed in his Batman pyjamas and sitting on the edge of his bed. “I’m really sorry, Momma. I really am.”
The ‘momma’ tugged at Mary’s heartstrings. Dean was growing up and had stopped calling her that when he was ten. “I know you are, Dean. But I still have to punish you. You knew you weren’t allowed to touch that weapon, but you did anyway. I made it perfectly clear to you how I feel about guns, not to mention you’re not allowed in the study. So I think you know that you’re going to get a spanking.”
Dean bit his lip and nodded. He hated getting spanked! Mary sat down on the bed next to him. Only then did Dean notice the hairbrush in her hand. “Mom?” he questioned.
“I’m sorry, Honey, but what you did could have had very serious repercussions….you could have accidentally shot yourself or your brother. And I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to either one of you! To make sure you learn from this and understand the seriousness of what you did, I’m going to finish your spanking with the hairbrush.”
Dean swallowed nervously. He had never been spanked with anything other than his mom or dad’s hand before. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?
Seeing her son’s trepidation, Mary reached out and ran a gentle hand through his short, dirty blond hair. “You’ll be okay, Dean,” she reassured.
Dean very much doubted that - he was never okay after any over-the-knee spanking as it was (much to his chagrin he still bawled like a baby whenever his butt was blistered), never mind one that would involve the large, wicked-looking hairbrush in his mother’s hand!
Not wanting to draw this out any longer, Mary seated herself on the edge of the bed and set the brush down beside her, before pulling Dean over her lap and quickly sliding his pyjama bottoms down to his knees. John always spanked the boys on the bare for serious misdemeanours, but Mary wasn’t comfortable with that and always spanked over their briefs. It might take slightly longer to reduce the miscreant to tears with the added layer of protection, but she could live with that.
She began swatting Dean’s buttocks hard and fast. Mary heard the boy’s sharp intake of breath and felt him tense over her knees. The eleven-year-old unconsciously clutched hold of the duvet as the burning sting quickly built up.
Mary alternated her swats: left butt-cheek, right butt-cheek, dead centre - ensuring that every inch of the fleshiest part of her son’s backside was thoroughly spanked.
Apart from a few barely audible murmured ‘owws’ and the boy’s increasingly irregular breathing, Dean was otherwise silent. Her eldest had always been quiet when spanked, unlike his younger brother who always wailed and howled as if he was being murdered. It was a standing joke between Mary and John that Sam could be heard in the next state whenever he was disciplined.
Dean clutched the duvet tighter and squeezed his eyes shut against the threatening tears. It hurt so much! He wanted nothing more than for it to be over - he wanted comfort and reassurance that he was forgiven and despite his mistake, still loved.
Mary gently pushed Dean further over her knee so that she had unrestricted access to his sensitive undercurve and the tops of his thighs. Dean could bear it no longer and the floodgates opened, tears sliding silently down his freckled cheeks. Mary knew that her eldest had started to cry, but she continued to spank, resolutely bringing her palm down sharply, determined to make this a memorable lesson, one that would have Dean thinking twice if he ever considered handling a firearm in the future.
After what seemed an eternity to Dean, the stinging swats finally stopped falling. Mary rested her hand for a moment on his scalded buttocks, aware of the heat now radiating through the thin material of his briefs. With the cessation of the smacking sounds, Dean’s quiet sniffles and hitched breathing were now clearly audible. Mary knew that she would never stop feeling pain in her own heart whenever she was the one responsible for causing tears in either of her boys, even though she knew she would be failing as a mother if she didn’t discipline them.
“Okay, Dean,” she soothed rubbing a gentle hand up the crying boy’s back, “nearly finished. Just a few smacks with the brush and then it’s all done.”
Dean shook his head frantically, the tears spilling freely down his cheeks - he couldn’t bear the thought of any more swats to his already flaming backside. He had no idea how much the brush would actually hurt, but he had no desire whatsoever to find out! “N-no, please, Momma. I’m s-sorry.”
Mary ignored his plea, but hesitated as she raised the brush, remembering the wicked sting that it produced. Part of her could not believe that she was actually going to inflict it onto her eldest, having hated it with a passion herself when she was growing up. Remembering the fear that she had felt when she thought that one of her babies had been shot, Mary hardened her heart and with a sharp flick of her wrist, snapped the brush down.
As soon as the brush connected with Dean’s left butt-cheek, a strangled cry was forced from his lips as he bucked and both legs kicked involuntarily. The movement shifted his pyjama bottoms from his knees down to his ankles. The child was convinced that nothing in his entire life had hurt as much as that stupid brush - not even when he had fallen out of a tree the previous year and broken his arm! He didn’t have any time to recover as the brush connected with his right butt-cheek. The pain blossomed sharp and unrelenting, magnifying the sting that was already there tenfold. Dean was unable to bite back another loud, tear-filled yelp.
Mary’s heart constricted, the uncharacteristic vocal response an undeniable indication of how much she was hurting her little boy. She hardened her heart once more, telling herself that this was for Dean’s own good and snapped the brush down dead centre across the crest of his buttocks. Dean was sobbing properly now. Mary could feel his upper body shaking over her knees. Quickly she applied the last two swats direct to his sit-spots and Dean let out a wail that was worthy of his little brother any day.
Mary set the brush down beside her on the duvet and pulled the sobbing boy up into her arms. “Sshh now, Baby. It’s all done.”
Dean whimpered as his thoroughly chastised rear settled on his mother’s lap, before wrapping his arms tightly around his mother’s neck and sobbing into her shoulder. He didn’t think the pain would ever go away.
Dean’s tears took a lot longer to subside than usual, though Mary had expected that, with the added pain that he would be feeling from the swats of the brush. She kept her arms wrapped tightly round him, continuing to murmur soothing sweet nothings into his hair
Mary continued to soothe, rocking the boy gently, as his tears slowly subsided to sniffles and then to occasional hiccoughs, prepared to hold him for as long as he needed it. Eventually, Dean raised his tear-stained face from where it was buried and sniffed, looking up at Mary, seeking reassurance.
“I’m really really really sorry. I know I was stupid and let you down…”
“Hush, Baby,” Mary cut him off gently, “It’s in the past, it’s forgiven and I love you.” She pressed a gentle kiss onto his forehead. “Just don’t ever do it again!”
Dean shook his head emphatically. “I hate guns! Sammy could’ve gotten hurt. I don’t want anythin’ to do with them ever!”
“That’s my, boy,” smiled Mary, reaching over to the nightstand for the tissue box and proceeding to wipe away Dean’s tears just as she had when he was a toddler. When she held a fresh tissue in front of his nose however, Dean rolled his eyes and groaned.
“Mommmm…”
“Humour me, come on blow.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Dean did as requested, before resting his cheek back against his mother’s shoulder.
He realised that he was sitting in his mother’s lap in his underwear with his pyjama bottoms still around his ankles, but the embarrassment he felt, wasn’t nearly enough to tempt him to leave the love and security of his mother’s arms wrapped tightly around him.
Dean spotted the offending brush lying on top of the duvet. He hated it! Casually, trying to look like he was scratching his leg, he moved his hand and knocked it off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. He felt a grim satisfaction at the dull thunk as it hit the carpet.
Mary chuckled, knowing full well that Dean had done that on purpose, however hard he’d tried to make it look like an accident. “You have no idea how much I wanted to do that to it when I was growing up.”
“Huh?” Dean pulled back slightly to look up at his mom.
Mary looked down at the boy’s face which was still flushed from his tears, reading the question in his bright green eyes. “Yes, Dean, I was spanked with that exact same hairbrush when I was a girl. I thought it was evil!” she gave a mock shudder.
“You were? What did you get spanked with it for?” Dean was more than intrigued and he most definitely agreed with his mother’s opinion that the brush was evil.
Mary nodded. “Hmm, let me think of an example.” She paused, thinking. A moment later Mary felt a blush begin to stain her cheeks as she remembered one particular incident, but there was no way she was explaining to Dean about the time she had had sex with John for the first time, although she could relay at least part of the story, if not all of it. “Well, one time when I was in High School, I skipped class to spend some time with your dad. Unfortunately for me, school rang home. Now don’t you go getting any ideas about cutting class, young man!”
Dean giggled. The sound warmed Mary’s heart after the tears and sobs of earlier. “I won’t, I promise. Who spanked you? Grandma or Gramps?”
“On that particular occasion, it was your Grandma. You okay now, Dean?”
Dean nodded.
Mary patted Dean’s thigh gently. “Now into bed with you.”
Dean slid off his mother’s lap grimacing at the extra discomfort the movement caused to his scalded rear end. He immediately bent down, pulling up his pyjama bottoms only to pause when they were just above his knees, wondering how to do it without causing any more pain as his backside was so sore already.
Mary hid a smile, guessing immediately the eleven-year-old’s dilemma. Her smile widened as Dean stretched the elasticated waistband as far from him as it would go, keeping it away from his buttocks, only gently releasing it when it was level with his waist.
She pulled back the bedcovers. “In you get.”
Dean climbed into bed and lay down on his stomach. Mary gently covered him back up and kissed his cheek.
“Is it okay if Sammy pops up for a few minutes? He says he wants to bring you milk and cookies, but really he wants to check if his big brother’s all right. I can keep him downstairs though if you’d rather.”
“Yeah, he can come up.” On the one hand, Dean would rather Sammy not see him when it was obvious he’d been bawling like a big baby, but he knew that his little brother would worry if he was kept downstairs.
As soon as Mary appeared in the kitchen her youngest jumped up. “Can I go now?”
Mary smiled. “Yes, Sammy. Dean’s waiting for his cookies and milk. I’ll call you when I want you to come back down.”
She placed a glass of milk and three chocolate chip cookies onto a tray and handed it to the seven-year-old.
Sam left the room slowly, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on keeping the tray level.
Deanna rested a gentle hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Everything okay, sweetheart?”
Mary paused before answering.
Her family was safe! “Yeah, Mom, everything’s fine.”