Teen!John Drabble
Title: Teen!John Drabble
Author: Capricorn86
Characters: John Winchester (16) John`s Father
Summary: Teen John comes home from a party after curfew. The fact that he`s drunk only adds to his father`s anger
Warning: Contains corporal punishment of a teen (switch)
Author`s Note: Prompt by hlscruggs. The only thing I know about John`s dad is that he worked as a mechanic. I decided not to name him in this story, seeing as it`s told from young John`s POV.
I enter the house, and I immediately feel Father`s hands on me as he takes a hold of my collar and slams me up against the wall. His breath is warm on my face, his cold grey eyes grabbing me like hooks.
“How dare you!” he spits. “How dare you come home at this hour?”
I try to give a reply, but the only sound that comes from me is a low groan. I hurt my head when Father pinned me against the wall.
“Are you drunk?” he asks, his voice thick with disgust.
Without waiting for an answer, he yanks me forward, his hands still having a tight grip around my shirt.
“Boy, I`ll tan your hide like cheap leather! You and me are going to the woodshed. Let`s see if me and my switch can`t sober you up!”
Oh, no. It`s been quite a while since last time, but I remember it well. Father and I have had many trips to the woodshed together over the years.
I try to resist as he drags me though the house and out the backdoor. But my father is a strong man, and his anger at me breaking my curfew and coming home drunk isn`t exactly making his touch softer.
The woodshed is standing behind the house. We use it mainly to store firewood, but Father also stores his tools in there. To me, the woodshed is a place of punishment. Ever since I was little, Father would take me to it whenever he thought I needed a reminder to follow the rules. When I was a kid, however, he`d only use his hand to spank me, occasionally his belt if he felt my offense was very serious. After I turned ten, he`d introduced me to the switch.
Father throws the door to the woodshed open, and roughly pushes me inside. He enters and closes the door behind him.
My eyes are automatically pulled to it.
The spot behind the door.
There it is.
The switch.
And it`s about to have a close encounter with my naked, unprotected behind.
“Drop your breeches,” Father orders.
I do as I`m told. I unbuckle my belt, and slide my jeans down, taking my underwear with them. I don`t want to add to the humiliation of the punishment by having my father undressing me.
“Assume the position.”
My hands take a firm hold around the edge of the tool bench. I spread my legs and bend forward.
Father is standing behind me.
I can hear him breathing heavily.
I feel the switch tap lightly against my naked skin.
Father is preparing to deliver the first blow. He pulls his arm back and brings the implement down, hard and without mercy or sympathy.
Swish! CRACK!
I close my eyes tight shut and grit my teeth against the pain, trying hard not to let any pained noises escape me.
Swish! CRACK!
Swish! CRACK!
I shift my legs uneasily. Damn, that smarts.
Swish! CRACK!
Swish! CRACK!
Swish! CRACK!
I jump up, swallowing a deep groan of pain.
“Bend over. If you break position again, I`m giving you extras,” Father says coldly.
He never lets me know exactly how many strokes he plans on giving me. He just swings his arm until he decides I`ve had enough.
So I get into position once more, and I give up attempting to count and keep track of how many times the switch comes cracking down on my exposed rear end.
And I give up trying to take my punishment silently. I give up trying to take it like a man. Father doesn`t speak, doesn`t make a sound.
The blows halt, but the intense burning sting on my skin continues. I know from past whippings it will continue for quite a while. I won`t get any sleep tonight.
I stand up. I try to face my father, standing on attention like a brave soldier. But I`m not brave. I`m a coward who has disappointed his father, and now I stand here weeping like a little boy.
“Dry your eyes, son.”
His voice betrays no emotion.
I quickly drag a hand over my face, wiping away the treacherous tears that give away the fact that I`m in pain. I tried. I tried so hard to take my punishment like a man. But I couldn`t.
Father extends his right hand. His left is holding the switch. It dangles loosely, its tip brushing against his leg.
I extend my own hand, hating that it trembles. My father grabs it and gives it a tight, firm squeeze from his rough, strong hand.
“That hurt me more than it hurt you.”
Bullshit.
The man clears his throat awkwardly as he releases my hand and turns away from me. The switch he puts back in its place, where it will wait patiently until the next time.
Father looks at me and says slowly: “You know, John, I… I, uh…”
Deciding to end the awkward moment, I simply nod and reply: “Yeah, I know.”
My father has never been good at expressing his feelings. The slow, stammered words is the closest thing he could ever get to saying I love you, and I only punished you because I got worried and scared when you didn`t come home on time. And getting drunk is neither acceptable nor legal for a boy of sixteen.
Father gives me a curt nod. “Get some rest, John.”
I nod back, silently watching him as he exits the woodshed. As soon as the door closes behind him, I break down. Now I`m alone, and no one can see me cry, so I needn`t feel ashamed.
Author: Capricorn86
Characters: John Winchester (16) John`s Father
Summary: Teen John comes home from a party after curfew. The fact that he`s drunk only adds to his father`s anger
Warning: Contains corporal punishment of a teen (switch)
Author`s Note: Prompt by hlscruggs. The only thing I know about John`s dad is that he worked as a mechanic. I decided not to name him in this story, seeing as it`s told from young John`s POV.
I enter the house, and I immediately feel Father`s hands on me as he takes a hold of my collar and slams me up against the wall. His breath is warm on my face, his cold grey eyes grabbing me like hooks.
“How dare you!” he spits. “How dare you come home at this hour?”
I try to give a reply, but the only sound that comes from me is a low groan. I hurt my head when Father pinned me against the wall.
“Are you drunk?” he asks, his voice thick with disgust.
Without waiting for an answer, he yanks me forward, his hands still having a tight grip around my shirt.
“Boy, I`ll tan your hide like cheap leather! You and me are going to the woodshed. Let`s see if me and my switch can`t sober you up!”
Oh, no. It`s been quite a while since last time, but I remember it well. Father and I have had many trips to the woodshed together over the years.
I try to resist as he drags me though the house and out the backdoor. But my father is a strong man, and his anger at me breaking my curfew and coming home drunk isn`t exactly making his touch softer.
The woodshed is standing behind the house. We use it mainly to store firewood, but Father also stores his tools in there. To me, the woodshed is a place of punishment. Ever since I was little, Father would take me to it whenever he thought I needed a reminder to follow the rules. When I was a kid, however, he`d only use his hand to spank me, occasionally his belt if he felt my offense was very serious. After I turned ten, he`d introduced me to the switch.
Father throws the door to the woodshed open, and roughly pushes me inside. He enters and closes the door behind him.
My eyes are automatically pulled to it.
The spot behind the door.
There it is.
The switch.
And it`s about to have a close encounter with my naked, unprotected behind.
“Drop your breeches,” Father orders.
I do as I`m told. I unbuckle my belt, and slide my jeans down, taking my underwear with them. I don`t want to add to the humiliation of the punishment by having my father undressing me.
“Assume the position.”
My hands take a firm hold around the edge of the tool bench. I spread my legs and bend forward.
Father is standing behind me.
I can hear him breathing heavily.
I feel the switch tap lightly against my naked skin.
Father is preparing to deliver the first blow. He pulls his arm back and brings the implement down, hard and without mercy or sympathy.
Swish! CRACK!
I close my eyes tight shut and grit my teeth against the pain, trying hard not to let any pained noises escape me.
Swish! CRACK!
Swish! CRACK!
I shift my legs uneasily. Damn, that smarts.
Swish! CRACK!
Swish! CRACK!
Swish! CRACK!
I jump up, swallowing a deep groan of pain.
“Bend over. If you break position again, I`m giving you extras,” Father says coldly.
He never lets me know exactly how many strokes he plans on giving me. He just swings his arm until he decides I`ve had enough.
So I get into position once more, and I give up attempting to count and keep track of how many times the switch comes cracking down on my exposed rear end.
And I give up trying to take my punishment silently. I give up trying to take it like a man. Father doesn`t speak, doesn`t make a sound.
The blows halt, but the intense burning sting on my skin continues. I know from past whippings it will continue for quite a while. I won`t get any sleep tonight.
I stand up. I try to face my father, standing on attention like a brave soldier. But I`m not brave. I`m a coward who has disappointed his father, and now I stand here weeping like a little boy.
“Dry your eyes, son.”
His voice betrays no emotion.
I quickly drag a hand over my face, wiping away the treacherous tears that give away the fact that I`m in pain. I tried. I tried so hard to take my punishment like a man. But I couldn`t.
Father extends his right hand. His left is holding the switch. It dangles loosely, its tip brushing against his leg.
I extend my own hand, hating that it trembles. My father grabs it and gives it a tight, firm squeeze from his rough, strong hand.
“That hurt me more than it hurt you.”
Bullshit.
The man clears his throat awkwardly as he releases my hand and turns away from me. The switch he puts back in its place, where it will wait patiently until the next time.
Father looks at me and says slowly: “You know, John, I… I, uh…”
Deciding to end the awkward moment, I simply nod and reply: “Yeah, I know.”
My father has never been good at expressing his feelings. The slow, stammered words is the closest thing he could ever get to saying I love you, and I only punished you because I got worried and scared when you didn`t come home on time. And getting drunk is neither acceptable nor legal for a boy of sixteen.
Father gives me a curt nod. “Get some rest, John.”
I nod back, silently watching him as he exits the woodshed. As soon as the door closes behind him, I break down. Now I`m alone, and no one can see me cry, so I needn`t feel ashamed.