Standoff
Title: Standoff
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1900
Disclaimer: Not my boys. Kripke is the one who started hurting them in the first place.
Summary: John wants to punish Dean. Sammy's attempt to rescue his brother doesn't go as planned.
If you think John was a spare the rod kind of father you may want to turn back now.
Written for the Spring11 Story Tree onspn_spankings and for 'Hostages' on my angst_bingo card. Not really about hostages and not really angst angst. More like little kid angst but that still counts!
Brush.
Sammy hates the stupid thing. Even the word itself sounds mean and scary and dangerous. Brushbrushbrushbrushbrush.
Dad hasn’t even used it on him, but Sammy figures anything that can turn Dean into a wide eyed, pale, spluttering mess is a special kind of evil.
His brother never cries and he doesn’t ever get scared. Except when Dad decides Dean needs some special quality time with that brush.
Which will probably happen in about two minutes, judging from the heated lecturing and quiet yessir’s Sammy can hear through the closed door. Something about a fight and attention and Child Protective Services.
Dad will hit Dean with the brush and Dean will cry and yell and holler like he never does when Dad uses his hand, because Dean is tough and not a baby like Sam. Sam gets really scared whenever Dad makes Dean get the brush. The CRACKs echo all across the apartment like the gunshots on TV, but twice as scary and sometimes Sam hides under the bed with his fingers stuffed into his ears and then he cries big, salty baby tears into the carpet. Dean has to come and find him then and he winces when his butt brushes against the underside of their bed. Sam thinks it’s unfair that his brother has to do the comforting, even when he is the one who’s hurting.
That’s not going to happen this time though. Sammy has a plan.
Quickly, he darts across the hall into the tiny bathroom. Sammy has seen Dad store the brush inside the small bathroom bag they all have to share, so that’s where he starts his search. Personally, he thinks the thing is better suited to be kept in the other duffel, the one with the knives and guns and all the other things that are used to hurt people.
“Yahtzee,” Sam whispers gleefully, when his pudgy fingers close around the wooden handle. Dean says that sometimes and Sam thinks it sounds pretty cool.
For a second he holds the brush in both his hands, thinks maybe he should be adventurous and smack his leg with the thing, just so he knows how much it really hurts, but he gets scared, so he doesn’t. Besides, he is on an emergency rescue mission here and he doesn’t have the time to spare.
With a loud plop the brush lands in the toilet bowl.
Water splashes up into Sam’s face. Yuck. Sammy wipes the drops off his face with the sleeve of his faded orange sweatshirt and enthusiastically flushes with both hands.
The water swirls and swooshes around the wooden brush, spluttering and gurgling, it pretty much sounds like Sammy just opened a gate to hell. Good. That’s where the evil thing belongs. And then it stops and the brush hasn’t disappeared into the watery pit that is their apartment complex’s plumbing system.
Sammy tries again, keeps his hands pressed down on the switch this time, focuses all his strength on getting rid of the evil thing.
“Alright, Dean, let’s get this over with. Go on and get the hairbrush.”
“Yessir.”
No. Not yet.
Sammy quickly checks the bowl one last time to see the brush is still there, unharmed sitting on the bottom of the bowl. Sammy basically flies the two steps to the door, shoves it shut and manages to turn the lock, just as Dean rounds the corner.
“Sammy?”
Sam flushes the toilet again. This time the water doesn’t even do the swirling, swooshing thing. It just sits there and gurgles lazily.
“Sammy, you about done in there?” Dean’s voice sounds strained, Sammy imagines he is stepping from foot to foot, like he sometimes does when he gets really nervous. Well, Sammy would be worried too if Dad ordered him around to fetch his own torturing device.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, just loud enough to carry through the thin wooden door. “I locked the door, Dean. You can’t get the brush.”
“You what?”
“I’m getting rid of the brush,” Sammy explains, thinks maybe Dean didn’t hear him right. He feels a proud smile spread over his face. Even if he didn’t manage to get rid of the thing altogether, Dad still can’t make Dean get it if they can’t get through the door.
The door starts rattling, the round, faded black knob looks like it’s about to fall right off.
“Sammy, are you out of your mind? Open that frickin’ door.”
“No!”
“Sammy, please, you can’t - “
And then there’s silence. Sammy thinks Dean’s probably caught on to what a great favor he’s doing him and is maybe taking a moment to appreciate the fact that he has an awesome little brother. Dean will probably buy him at least one ice cream cone tomorrow.
“What’s going on here?”
Oh.
Dad.
Where did Dad come from?
Somehow Sammy’s plan never got to the stage where Dad found out about it and started investigating. He feels like he should cuss. Use one of the bad words Dean can sometimes use and Dad always but never Sam, because you’re little Sammy. You don’t even know what that means.
“He uhm…” Dean’s voice sounds muffled through the door, but Sammy can still make out the nervous stutter. “Sammy’s in there. He’s taking a leak.”
The door starts rattling again.
“Sam?” Dad’s voice sounds pretty mad and Sammy thinks that one vein on his temple is probably pulsing. “You using the head?”
“Yessir,” Sammy shouts back, quickly closes the lid and sits down on top of it. He doesn’t really want to lie to Daddy and sitting is a form of using.
“Well, I don’t hear any leaking, so cut the crap and come on out.”
“I’m already done.”
This is mean. Sammy really didn’t plan on Dad interrogating him during his rescue mission. Though he supposes it’s more of a hostage situation now. Sammy has the brush, Dad has Dean’s butt and neither is willing to give.
“Then open up, Dean ‘n I got some business to attend to.”
Sammy shudders like he imagines Dean does at the words.
“I wanna take a shower first.”
Sammy doesn’t know where that came from. Dean calls it ‘imposising’. Says he does it all the time at school. For a minute there is nothing but silence from the other side of the door and he starts thinking maybe the imposising worked.
Then, “Sammy, you moron.” And “Samuel, open this door right now.”
“No!”
“Excuse me?”
Sam figures if he’s already come this far he might as well see this through all the way.
“I’m not opening the door,” he explains.
“And why’s that?”
All of a sudden Dad sounds all grumbly and quiet and Sammy isn’t sure if that's better or worse than the shouting.
“’Cause if I do you’re gonna spank Dean with the stupid brush and I don’t want you to, ‘cause he says it hurts like a bitch.”
Dad mumbles something that sounds like ‘yeah, that’s sort of he point’ but Sammy isn’t sure. He can hear Dad take a deep breath. “You realize I have spoons and shoes and belts just lying around out here, right?”
“Oh God, Sammy, c’mon just open up, I promise it won’t be that bad.”
And this? Sammy so didn’t sign up for this. This is spiraling out of control. Dean wasn’t supposed to be on the pro butt warming side and Dad wasn’t supposed to come out of the living room at all. The hostage thing in that movie Dean let him watch last time Dad was away on business didn’t end like this. The two people ne…ne…knee-go-she-ate-ed a deal and both ended up sort of happy. They traded their hostages and everything was fine. Sammy has a feeling this thing isn’t going to end with Dad handing over his big brother in exchange for his stupid hairbrush.
Still, “I’ll give Dad the stupid hairbrush if Dean can stay in the bathroom with me” worth a shot.
“Listen, buddy, you can open that door or I can kick it in and we’ll see how you like that stupid brush on your own butt.”
Wait what? No. Nononononono. Totally out of control. Ms Hollander says he is the smartest boy in his class, but right now Sammy feels like the biggest idiot ever. Who comes up with a plan like that?
“Whoa, Dad, he’s just a little kid, you don’t wanna - “
“I don’t wanna hear it, Dean. Living room. Go.”
“But, Da- ow!”
Sammy isn’t sure what happens next. There is some hushed arguing, more swatting and owing and Sammy has no idea what to do anymore.
He has backed himself into a corner here. Dean told him about playing possum. If he just sits real quietly maybe they will forget about him being here in the first place and just leave.
Then the door starts rattling again. Once, twice and suddenly it’s been replaced by one giant, mad looking John Winchester.
Sammy starts shaking his head left and right, this isn’t happening, this wasn’t what was supposed to happen.
“Time’s up, kiddo.”
Now that's just not fair. Dad didn’t even count.
“You didn’t even count!”
Dad shakes his head. He looks really mad around the eyes but his mouth is in a weird grimace like he’s trying not to laugh but that just doesn’t make sense.
Sammy draws his knees up to his chest, screws his eyes shut and keeps up his desperate nonononono.
Dad doesn’t move for such a long time, Sammy thinks the possum thing might even work with people being in the same room, but suddenly he feels Dad’s rough hands wrap around his middle and he’s being put back on his feet.
Dad opens the lid, because Dad knows everything and he didn’t have to ask Sammy where he hid the brush. He looks sort of disgusted, but still, he reaches into the bowl and gets out his stupid - scaryterriblemeanevil - brush. Dad flicks his wrist, sends a small shower of icky toilette water all over Sam and somehow that’s a lot worse than the couple of drops from earlier.
Sam thinks he might have made a face. The one that makes Dean snort and Dad sigh and rub his temples. Dad fixes him with a glare and mumbles something under his breath that sounds like ‘bad couple moves there, Sammy-boy’ and wraps his fingers around Sam’s left arm real tight. So tight Sam thinks it might fall off after Dad lets go.
And then Dad’s arm whips forward and the brush smacks down on Sammy’s butt and Sam screams.
He isn’t even sure if it hurts yet, but he knows it’s loud and scary and Dad is doing this to hurt him.
Dad is mean and scary and just as evil as the stupid hairbrush.
Another CRACK and the world narrows down to the sting in his butt and Sammy screams again and Dad is talking but he can’t hear him over the blood that’s rushing through his ears and then Daddy lets go of his arm and Sammy’s running out the door and he’s crawling under his bed and none of this is happening.
His fingers are in his ears and he’s humming the theme tune to the Sesame Street and big baby tears drop onto the carpet.
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1900
Disclaimer: Not my boys. Kripke is the one who started hurting them in the first place.
Summary: John wants to punish Dean. Sammy's attempt to rescue his brother doesn't go as planned.
If you think John was a spare the rod kind of father you may want to turn back now.
Written for the Spring11 Story Tree onspn_spankings and for 'Hostages' on my angst_bingo card. Not really about hostages and not really angst angst. More like little kid angst but that still counts!
Brush.
Sammy hates the stupid thing. Even the word itself sounds mean and scary and dangerous. Brushbrushbrushbrushbrush.
Dad hasn’t even used it on him, but Sammy figures anything that can turn Dean into a wide eyed, pale, spluttering mess is a special kind of evil.
His brother never cries and he doesn’t ever get scared. Except when Dad decides Dean needs some special quality time with that brush.
Which will probably happen in about two minutes, judging from the heated lecturing and quiet yessir’s Sammy can hear through the closed door. Something about a fight and attention and Child Protective Services.
Dad will hit Dean with the brush and Dean will cry and yell and holler like he never does when Dad uses his hand, because Dean is tough and not a baby like Sam. Sam gets really scared whenever Dad makes Dean get the brush. The CRACKs echo all across the apartment like the gunshots on TV, but twice as scary and sometimes Sam hides under the bed with his fingers stuffed into his ears and then he cries big, salty baby tears into the carpet. Dean has to come and find him then and he winces when his butt brushes against the underside of their bed. Sam thinks it’s unfair that his brother has to do the comforting, even when he is the one who’s hurting.
That’s not going to happen this time though. Sammy has a plan.
Quickly, he darts across the hall into the tiny bathroom. Sammy has seen Dad store the brush inside the small bathroom bag they all have to share, so that’s where he starts his search. Personally, he thinks the thing is better suited to be kept in the other duffel, the one with the knives and guns and all the other things that are used to hurt people.
“Yahtzee,” Sam whispers gleefully, when his pudgy fingers close around the wooden handle. Dean says that sometimes and Sam thinks it sounds pretty cool.
For a second he holds the brush in both his hands, thinks maybe he should be adventurous and smack his leg with the thing, just so he knows how much it really hurts, but he gets scared, so he doesn’t. Besides, he is on an emergency rescue mission here and he doesn’t have the time to spare.
With a loud plop the brush lands in the toilet bowl.
Water splashes up into Sam’s face. Yuck. Sammy wipes the drops off his face with the sleeve of his faded orange sweatshirt and enthusiastically flushes with both hands.
The water swirls and swooshes around the wooden brush, spluttering and gurgling, it pretty much sounds like Sammy just opened a gate to hell. Good. That’s where the evil thing belongs. And then it stops and the brush hasn’t disappeared into the watery pit that is their apartment complex’s plumbing system.
Sammy tries again, keeps his hands pressed down on the switch this time, focuses all his strength on getting rid of the evil thing.
“Alright, Dean, let’s get this over with. Go on and get the hairbrush.”
“Yessir.”
No. Not yet.
Sammy quickly checks the bowl one last time to see the brush is still there, unharmed sitting on the bottom of the bowl. Sammy basically flies the two steps to the door, shoves it shut and manages to turn the lock, just as Dean rounds the corner.
“Sammy?”
Sam flushes the toilet again. This time the water doesn’t even do the swirling, swooshing thing. It just sits there and gurgles lazily.
“Sammy, you about done in there?” Dean’s voice sounds strained, Sammy imagines he is stepping from foot to foot, like he sometimes does when he gets really nervous. Well, Sammy would be worried too if Dad ordered him around to fetch his own torturing device.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, just loud enough to carry through the thin wooden door. “I locked the door, Dean. You can’t get the brush.”
“You what?”
“I’m getting rid of the brush,” Sammy explains, thinks maybe Dean didn’t hear him right. He feels a proud smile spread over his face. Even if he didn’t manage to get rid of the thing altogether, Dad still can’t make Dean get it if they can’t get through the door.
The door starts rattling, the round, faded black knob looks like it’s about to fall right off.
“Sammy, are you out of your mind? Open that frickin’ door.”
“No!”
“Sammy, please, you can’t - “
And then there’s silence. Sammy thinks Dean’s probably caught on to what a great favor he’s doing him and is maybe taking a moment to appreciate the fact that he has an awesome little brother. Dean will probably buy him at least one ice cream cone tomorrow.
“What’s going on here?”
Oh.
Dad.
Where did Dad come from?
Somehow Sammy’s plan never got to the stage where Dad found out about it and started investigating. He feels like he should cuss. Use one of the bad words Dean can sometimes use and Dad always but never Sam, because you’re little Sammy. You don’t even know what that means.
“He uhm…” Dean’s voice sounds muffled through the door, but Sammy can still make out the nervous stutter. “Sammy’s in there. He’s taking a leak.”
The door starts rattling again.
“Sam?” Dad’s voice sounds pretty mad and Sammy thinks that one vein on his temple is probably pulsing. “You using the head?”
“Yessir,” Sammy shouts back, quickly closes the lid and sits down on top of it. He doesn’t really want to lie to Daddy and sitting is a form of using.
“Well, I don’t hear any leaking, so cut the crap and come on out.”
“I’m already done.”
This is mean. Sammy really didn’t plan on Dad interrogating him during his rescue mission. Though he supposes it’s more of a hostage situation now. Sammy has the brush, Dad has Dean’s butt and neither is willing to give.
“Then open up, Dean ‘n I got some business to attend to.”
Sammy shudders like he imagines Dean does at the words.
“I wanna take a shower first.”
Sammy doesn’t know where that came from. Dean calls it ‘imposising’. Says he does it all the time at school. For a minute there is nothing but silence from the other side of the door and he starts thinking maybe the imposising worked.
Then, “Sammy, you moron.” And “Samuel, open this door right now.”
“No!”
“Excuse me?”
Sam figures if he’s already come this far he might as well see this through all the way.
“I’m not opening the door,” he explains.
“And why’s that?”
All of a sudden Dad sounds all grumbly and quiet and Sammy isn’t sure if that's better or worse than the shouting.
“’Cause if I do you’re gonna spank Dean with the stupid brush and I don’t want you to, ‘cause he says it hurts like a bitch.”
Dad mumbles something that sounds like ‘yeah, that’s sort of he point’ but Sammy isn’t sure. He can hear Dad take a deep breath. “You realize I have spoons and shoes and belts just lying around out here, right?”
“Oh God, Sammy, c’mon just open up, I promise it won’t be that bad.”
And this? Sammy so didn’t sign up for this. This is spiraling out of control. Dean wasn’t supposed to be on the pro butt warming side and Dad wasn’t supposed to come out of the living room at all. The hostage thing in that movie Dean let him watch last time Dad was away on business didn’t end like this. The two people ne…ne…knee-go-she-ate-ed a deal and both ended up sort of happy. They traded their hostages and everything was fine. Sammy has a feeling this thing isn’t going to end with Dad handing over his big brother in exchange for his stupid hairbrush.
Still, “I’ll give Dad the stupid hairbrush if Dean can stay in the bathroom with me” worth a shot.
“Listen, buddy, you can open that door or I can kick it in and we’ll see how you like that stupid brush on your own butt.”
Wait what? No. Nononononono. Totally out of control. Ms Hollander says he is the smartest boy in his class, but right now Sammy feels like the biggest idiot ever. Who comes up with a plan like that?
“Whoa, Dad, he’s just a little kid, you don’t wanna - “
“I don’t wanna hear it, Dean. Living room. Go.”
“But, Da- ow!”
Sammy isn’t sure what happens next. There is some hushed arguing, more swatting and owing and Sammy has no idea what to do anymore.
He has backed himself into a corner here. Dean told him about playing possum. If he just sits real quietly maybe they will forget about him being here in the first place and just leave.
Then the door starts rattling again. Once, twice and suddenly it’s been replaced by one giant, mad looking John Winchester.
Sammy starts shaking his head left and right, this isn’t happening, this wasn’t what was supposed to happen.
“Time’s up, kiddo.”
Now that's just not fair. Dad didn’t even count.
“You didn’t even count!”
Dad shakes his head. He looks really mad around the eyes but his mouth is in a weird grimace like he’s trying not to laugh but that just doesn’t make sense.
Sammy draws his knees up to his chest, screws his eyes shut and keeps up his desperate nonononono.
Dad doesn’t move for such a long time, Sammy thinks the possum thing might even work with people being in the same room, but suddenly he feels Dad’s rough hands wrap around his middle and he’s being put back on his feet.
Dad opens the lid, because Dad knows everything and he didn’t have to ask Sammy where he hid the brush. He looks sort of disgusted, but still, he reaches into the bowl and gets out his stupid - scaryterriblemeanevil - brush. Dad flicks his wrist, sends a small shower of icky toilette water all over Sam and somehow that’s a lot worse than the couple of drops from earlier.
Sam thinks he might have made a face. The one that makes Dean snort and Dad sigh and rub his temples. Dad fixes him with a glare and mumbles something under his breath that sounds like ‘bad couple moves there, Sammy-boy’ and wraps his fingers around Sam’s left arm real tight. So tight Sam thinks it might fall off after Dad lets go.
And then Dad’s arm whips forward and the brush smacks down on Sammy’s butt and Sam screams.
He isn’t even sure if it hurts yet, but he knows it’s loud and scary and Dad is doing this to hurt him.
Dad is mean and scary and just as evil as the stupid hairbrush.
Another CRACK and the world narrows down to the sting in his butt and Sammy screams again and Dad is talking but he can’t hear him over the blood that’s rushing through his ears and then Daddy lets go of his arm and Sammy’s running out the door and he’s crawling under his bed and none of this is happening.
His fingers are in his ears and he’s humming the theme tune to the Sesame Street and big baby tears drop onto the carpet.