(no subject)
Title: Bedtime Blues
Pairings: Mary, John, sammy (3), Dean (7)
Disclaimer: I own nothing, all belongs to Eric Kripke
Author's Note: So, this was meant to be a drabble, but I got a bit carried away, haha! I finished another exam yesterday and then just have one more left (on Monday) so I'll have much more free time. woo! Anyway, here's Capricorn's prompt for this:
Drabble idea: 3-year-old Sam runs away from John/Mary because he doesn`t want to take a bath. I imagine he`d be given a swat or two but not a proper spanking. If this features John or Mary is up to you.
So yeah, enjoy! Let me know what you love or hate or if you have any requesty type things :)
Mary Winchester drags a hand through her hair as her 3 year old son runs riot in the house. Dean, her 7 year old son is on the couch in his pajamas watching a film, quietly for once, and for that she’s grateful. “Sammy, I already told you it’s time to get ready for bed, now c’mon.”
She takes the small hand in hers and leads him up the stairs, even as he tries to wrench his arm out of her grip. “Want Dee!” He wails, pouting.
“Sammy, you need to get a bath. You can see Dee soon, okay?”
“Dee!” Sammy whines.
Mary bites her tongue, sweeping the boy onto her hip as she continues to the bathroom and leans down to turn the faucet to on, starting the water running.
“Hey, honey! I’m home!” Mary bites back a groan at her husband’s call; relief and frustration warring within her.
“Daddddy!” Sammy screeches, face lighting up.
“Nuhuh, Mr. You’re having a bath first.” Mary informs him, pulling him back to where she stands. Sammy glares at her, folding his arms. Trying to avoid a tantrum, Mary compromises.
“Aw, c’mon, Sammy. Why don’t we find some toys to play with?” The water is at the right volume by then and she turns to get the basket where the bath toys are kept after turning the tap off.
Sammy seizes his opportunity; running out of the bathroom as fast as his chubby legs will carry him, a determined frown on his face. Mary looks up, growling his name in her annoyance before setting off after him. She snakes a hand around his wrist, pulling him to a stop, landing four sharp smacks to his small, squirming backside.
“Yeoooooooooooooooowwwww! DADDY!” Sam’s face scrunches up as the screeching wail escape his lips and Mary feels tears welling up in her eyes. Trying to stay strong, she looks him in the eye. “Samuel Winchester, I told you three times it was bath time. You don’t run away from me, do you understand? That was naughty.” She says calmly before letting his wrist go. Sammy looks at her; his eyes filled with hurt. And then he tears off again, a repeated mantra of, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” filling the house as Sam provides them all with his heartfelt theatrics.
Mary stands blankly on the landing, fighting tears in her wound up state, and John appears a moment later, hands still stained with motor oil and his hair damp from the rain outside. It’s winter, and Mary knows how much he loves sitting near the fire when he gets home from work; using it to heat himself up from the cold weather. She suspects he’s been sitting with Dean watching Peter Pan until hearing the ruckus; the confusion shadowing his features with concern is almost enough to bring forth the tears in her own eyes. She’s always struggled with the bedtime routine, and tonight is no different with Sammy; her strong willed, intelligent Sammy refusing to go to bed once more. Feeling like she’s failed her baby by spanking him, she sighs heavily, not sure what to do.
John bends his knees and catches an armful of Sammy ploughing towards him, raising his eyebrows at his wife and fighting a grin as Sammy moulds himself into his Dad’s strong chest, sobbing in a jumble of words, “Daddy! Daddy! Mommy hitted me!”
“She hit you?”
“Uhuh, f…” Sammy pauses to count the numbers; scrunching his face up in concentration, “Four? Times! It hurt!” He pouts gloriously and John bites his lip for a moment before shushing the boy softly. He gives Mary that look; his warm brown eyes promising her that everything’ll be just fine and telling her not to worry before carrying his little boy out of sight to the dining room so he can sit down and explain to Sammy what’s just happened.
Mary stands a moment longer before heading to his bedroom to get his PJ’s, blankey and teddy ready along with his pull ups; knowing he’s tired and that John’ll probably be chatting to him for a little while, just glad she doesn’t have to deal with her energetic son.
Meanwhile, John sits down balancing Sammy on his lap. Sammy squirms uncomfortably, tears still making their way down his chubby three year old cheeks. “Sammy,” John begins calmly, searching for the right words. “Mommy didn’t hit you, baby. Well, I guess she kinda did. But it’s different. That’s called a spanking, what you got. Not a real spanking either, you got a few smacks. But that’s what happens to naughty little boys, they get their bottoms smacked.” He continues with a raised brow at his son, hoping to get the full story from the little boy -and quickly because it’s past his bedtime. “Do you know why your mom spanked you?”
John takes great care emphasizing the word to make sure Sammy can distinguish between the two and Sammy clearly knows what he’s doing because he frowns at his Daddy, squirming uncomfortably. “Uh…” Sammy puts on his thinking face before his eyes widen a bit and he quickly looks down. John gently reaches out and tilts Sammy’s chin up so he can look him in the eyes. Sammy looks at him sadly before quickly admitting, “…I ranned away from Mommy whenned she ranned my baf. An’ I didunt do what I was told today. Am I gont get spankeded again, daddy?” he asks pitifully, fresh tears in his eyes as John watches realization reach his eyes, shadowing them.
John smiles; unable to resist grinning at how cute his baby boy is. “No, no, Sammy Tiger. When you get spanked by me or your Mommy; that’s it done. No more feeling guilty. If you get a smack, we forgive you. And then you just gotta try and be a good boy afterwards so you don’t get in more trouble. Mommy spanked you tonight but now it’s finished so it doesn’t matter anymore. You need to say your sorries to Mommy though. Understand?”
Sammy nods, feeling bad about being naughty and not just having his bath like a good boy. Dee would have had his bath like a good boy, Sammy is sure of that. His big brother always does the right thing. John can read his son like a book and chuckles; knowing what Sammy is thinking. “No, Sammy. Don’t you worry yourself about that… Sometimes Dee gets spanked too. You know why? Cuz’ he’s little and sometimes little boys are naughty and their mommy’s or daddy’s have to correct their behaviour so they know how to behave good…”
“It’s true, Sammy. Sometimes Daddy puts me over his knee and spanks me when I do something bad. And it hurts lots but then he gives me lots of kisses and cuddles afterwards and it makes me feel better and it’s cause he loves me; Mommy too. Isn’t that right, daddy?” Dean interrupts their conversation to soothe his brother and John smiles at him gratefully. Dean nods, understanding what Daddy’s eyes are telling him and John smiles, confirming what his big boy’s just said. Dean smiles again before asking his dad to make him some hot chocolate and John smiles nodding. “Sure, Dean. I’ll just get Sammy up to Mom for his bath. Go watch your film and I’ll bring it through for you.”
He ruffles his son’s sandy blonde hair, watching him run back to the living room and replay his film before giving Sammy an encouraging squeeze.
“Go on then, Sammy. Go find Momma and get your bath so you can get lots of cuddles and say your sorries.” Sammy clings to him, shaking his chubby little face from side to side even as he yawns.
“I want you to give me my bath, Daddy.” He mumbles, starting to feel tired. John nods in understanding and carries the boy upstairs, depositing him in the bath to play while he finds Mary. Sammy doesn’t play with his toys, his big brown eyes drooping as he fights big yawns, and John reappears with an affectionate smile aimed at the toddler.
“C’mon then, Sammy. Let’s get your hair washed and get you in bed.”
Sammy doesn’t notice his Mom peek in the doorway for a moment before going downstairs to make Dean’s drink while John gets Sammy bathed and into his bedtime onesie. Sammy rubs his eyes, obediently tipping his head back when John tells him to and John skillfully washes the little boy’s hair, taking care to also clean behind his ears and his hands and grubby knees before lifting him out the bath and wrapping him in one of the fluffy towels. He carries his bundle of Sam to his room and helps him get dressed, happy to hear the sound of Mary slipping quietly into the room. John looks at her and nods, encouraging her to finish Sammy’s routine. He knows she often takes it to heart when their sons get upset; her heart’s just that big. He turns to Sam, wrapping the three year old in a bear hug which has the boy squealing happily before offloading him to his Mom. “Night, Sammy bear. Sleep well.” He drops a kiss to Sam’s forehead, brushing his damp, floppy hair aside.
Mary feels a bit worried as she watches John stroll out of the room, leaving her with a panicked looking toddler. “Momma?”
Mary blinks and looks at the toddler who looks down, playing with her long honey blonde hair. “Yeah, baby?”
“’m sorry I wunned away.” Sammy announcing sadly. “And I sorry I told Dad you hitted me… You didn’t. You… spankeded me. Daddy says that’s diffrunt.”
Mary smiles at her son’s childish honesty, nodding her head. “He’s right, Sammy. I would never hit you, but sometimes me and Daddy gotta spank you or Dean when you do something naughty. But that’s okay, sweetie, I forgive you. Do I get big hugs and kisses now?” She grins as Sammy dramatically throws himself at her neck, wrapping his arms round her and squeezing tight before landing a big sloppy kiss on her cheek. She scrunches her face up, thinking a kiss from a dog would be more hygienic but she knows she doesn’t really mind cause he’s her Sammy.
Half an hour later, when the giggles and squeals of the three year old and his mother have stopped drifted down from the child’s bedroom, John carries a sleeping Dean up to bed. Dean’s not been feeling too well this week, John knows, and so he doesn’t mind carrying the seven year old up to bed after he’s falling asleep; even though it’s half an hour after he usually goes to bed. Sammy’s tantrum’s affected the whole evening, but John’s just glad that everything seems to be sorted now. He stops in the doorway with his sleeping son in his arms, leaning against the doorpost. Mary looks up from her space on Sammy’s bed without stopping reading The Ugly Duckling to Sammy who is, by now, almost certainly fast asleep on her lap, his breathing even. They grin at each other for a minute as she closes the book, finishing the story, and both savor the peace.
The moment passes as both boys stir a bit, burrowing closer into their respective parents and the grins turn to soft chuckles as the couple turn their focus to their young family, shushing them back to sleep. As he heads along the hallway, John can’t help but smile at the sight he’s just seen, relieved that their cheeky little tiger hasn’t taken his mother’s scolding to heart; clever little thing that he is.