TV One Shot - Mad World (Part Two)
PART ONE
Three sets of eyes turned to greet him as Dean entered the house. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Instead, he moved over to the table and placed the pizza boxes on the table.
“What the Hell happened to you?!” Nick was the first to react.
“Crap, are you okay?” Sam added, rushing over to Dean’s side, getting to him before Nick’s limping could.
“I’m fine,” Dean muttered, turning to keep his face away from them. He moved a few of the papers on the table, making sure that they wouldn’t touch the box and come away greasy.
“Like hell you are!” and suddenly Dean was flipped around and looking into his father’s not pleased eyes. John took hold of his chin, ignoring Dean’s wince at the touch, and tilted the teen’s head one way, then the other, making assessment to his son’s condition.
With three boys, and their nomadic lifestyle, John Winchester wouldn’t kid himself into thinking that his kids didn’t fight. He was called in on all kinds of things from the schools they went to, and Dean was the worst offender, getting into more scraps than a professional boxer.
That didn’t mean that when he saw a black eye and bloody nose, he was immune to the gut wrenching knowledge that someone had laid their hands on his kid.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” Dean replied, but it came out a little lisped.
Frowning, John forced Dean’s mouth opened wider, noticing the red and slight swell to his gums. The kid had taken quite a few hits. He reached into Dean’s mouth, checking and grateful when none of the teeth appeared loose. Though he did get a few drops of blood from the gums.
Releasing Dean’s face, John decided then and there, that enough was enough.
“You have five seconds to tell me where you were, little boy, and I’m warning you now - I’m in no mood to beat around the bush.”
Dean looked slightly startled but instead of talking, he looked away from them and towards the table.
“Pizza come with a side of knuckle ‘round these parts?” Nick added.
John glared at his eldest son, but his attention returned to Dean.
Nick noted the look, however, and unlike Dean currently, he knew better than to test the man.
“Hey Sammy, how about you and me head out and get us a few extra boxes, or hey I bet there’s some groceries and things we should get.”
Sam frowned at his brother, but he quickly came to the conclusion too that whatever was going on between Dad and Dean was about to erupt.
“Nicholas Aaron,” John growled, not even letting the teen get two steps away. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? You have enough drugs in you to lay you flat,” he quickly chided. Pointing towards the couch, John leveled Nick with a look and didn’t lower his hand until Nick sighed and raised his hands in defeat, limping his way back to the couch.
“Sammy, take your shower,” John continued, turning a quick eye to his youngest before staring straight at Dean. Or at least, at his better eye. “Dean, go to my room.”
Sam started to open his mouth to protest, it was really the principal of the matter. He didn’t need to be sent away like a child, but the next instructions left little to the mind. There was only two reasons John sent his sons to his room (when he had one), and it didn’t look like Dean was about to become uncontrollably ill at any moment.
“Yessir,” Sam said, turning tail and dashing over to the bathroom. He turned on the water, full blast, hoping it would drown out the inevitable noise that would follow. Sam bit his lip, he felt bad for Dean. He could tell, in the past two weeks, last month really, that Dean wasn’t fully himself. His fight with Dad certainly wasn’t helping, and now Dean was going to have to pay the price for his actions.
Still, Sam was sympathetic, he just hoped that, whatever funk had gotten into Dean, Dad would work it out of him.
Dean, on the other hand, stifled at the command. There was only one way this was heading, and he wasn’t going to go to his father’s room. While he didn’t voice it, his face certainly stated that and more.
“Now, Dean,” John said, his voice getting deadly lower.
John couldn’t help it. He had it ingrained in him, probably from his own father, but there was something about his kids not doing as they were told, that he started seeing in almost Technicolor and his voice reflected some evil foe of the cinema era. At least it did to his own ears. He had often heard that that particular tone stroke fear in more than one man.
But apparently, not the one before him.
Some balls, his kid.
John gripped Dean’s upper arm tightly, loosening his grip slightly at his son’s cringe and groan. He needed to look the kid over, check for more injuries, and he would make certain to do that, but damn if he had to get rid of the brat that inhabited his son first.
John walked Dean over to the beginning of the hall, just across the bathroom, and released Dean’s arm. Instead, he reached down and made sure he made himself perfectly clear that he was so done taking crap from a sixteen year old. Four smacks, and he was positive that they had reached their intended target (mostly starting to break down Dean’s stubborn resistance), because not only was his own hand tingling, but Dean hissed through the whole of them.
“Go wait in my room, now,” John didn’t need to point the room out, but just like with Nick, he did and he stayed like that until Dean finally, finally, did as he was told.
John wasn’t sure if Dean slammed the door, or if his own anger was amplifying in his ears, but he was going to let that slide for now. He had enough to deal with that kid.
“About time,” Nick said, glancing over the edge of the couch’s armrest at him.
“You keep your mouth shut!”
Nick turned around and closed his eyes, but there was little to stop him from running his mouth.
“Fine, I won’t say how we could all have avoided this headache if you would have just dealt with Dean a month ago like I sa- OW!” Nick opened his eyes and reached up to rub his head.
“Keep it shut! Or I’ll deal with you next!”
Eyes widening slightly, Nick laid back down and closed his eyes. He liked to remind himself that he was nineteen and no longer a child. But he had already gotten the message loud and clear a few months ago that his dad didn’t quite consider him an adult yet. At least not adult enough to not deserve a trip over his knee.
“That’s what I thought.” John walked away and walked towards his room. He would have liked more time to work through his anger, and Dean had certainly made him build up plenty of it, but it wouldn’t be fair to any of them. Sam was already going to be wasting the whole of the apartment’s supply of water just to try and drown out the noise, and John knew he had quite a talk ahead of him.
~~~~
Dean felt himself stiffen when the door opened and closed behind him. He heard his father sigh deeply, and he knew he was the cause of it. He couldn’t help himself, honestly. It might be that whole teenage rebellion thing Dad always mumbled about finally kicking in, but Dean couldn’t do anything about it.
He should have been sitting on the bed, or even in some corner like a toddler or something. Instead, he was by the window, glancing out at the darkening sky. It was only four in the afternoon, but February was dead center winter, and it got dark plenty fast.
“Sit down,” his father’s growl came.
Dean didn’t think this was fair. This wasn’t one bit fair and his dad knew it. And if he didn’t know it, it still wasn’t fair.
He turned around, slowly, and walked, ever so slowly, to where his father was pointing. And, as he passed just next to the guy, got swatted twice for his trouble. Figured. He grunted, but sat down nonetheless. Six swats in already, and they hadn’t even gotten to the spanking part yet. It just wasn’t fair at all.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, kid, but I am not in the mood. I warned you once already. I won’t warn you again.”
Dean chanced a quick glance at John, watching as his father pulled the desk chair away from the cluttered desk, and in front of where Dean now sat.
“This isn’t fair,” Dean mumbled, as John sat down in front of him.
John frowned, feeling a bit of déjà vu. A six year old Dean, gripping his hand tight, not wanting to start the first grade; ten year old Dean, and his first broken leg; eleven year old Dean and his first suspension, even though the other kid started it; fourteen year old Dean and the first time they had to ‘bury’ a friend. Life’s not fair, John wanted to say. He had wanted to say it each and every one of those times too, but he didn’t. Life wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t fair to his boys most of all, but he didn’t have to be the one to rub it in.
“What’s not fair?” he asked instead.
“You can’t do this!” Dean’s hands gripped at the blankets beneath him. John frowned slightly, they were different than the ones that were on when he had left a week ago.
And he doubted Sammy would have thought to do such a thing. A grounded Dean was a strange thing, but he would remember to thank the boy, after he was done busting his ass, of course.
“Can’t do what?” John said, a hint of bother in his tone. “This?” he motioned in between them. “Or what I’m going to do in a moment? Because I think we both know where this is headed.”
“Urgh,” Dean groaned through gritted teeth. “This! Everything! You can’t just not and then be again! It’s not fair.”
John had warned his son about pissing him off, but he honestly didn’t think Dean was trying to do that. Dean was the least vocal of his sons. Not to say that the kid didn’t have a smart mouth on him when he wanted, or that more than more person had warned him that his son was a bit of a charmer with the woman folk. But, when it mattered, Dean just wouldn’t talk about things.
He knew this, and John wasn’t trying to be an asshole to his kid. A lot of times, he let the kid slide on things. Sure, his sons and the majority of the people that knew him would turn their eyebrows up at that statement, but John knew that it was mostly true. Just like there were also times that he should have let things slide, let the boy(s) off with a warning, but he hadn’t. It was a crappy balance for sure. But no one said parenting was easy.
And when he did make Dean talk, it didn’t always come out so linear.
“What?”
“You can’t just stop being my dad and then decide to be my dad again,” Dean said, taking a breath and gripping the sheets again. “You can’t mess with me like that, it’s not fair!”
“What the fuck?” John seriously felt like banging his head on the wall. “Dean Michael, I never, nor will I ever, stopped being your father. Get -
“Yes you did!” Dean’s grip got tight enough that John feared he was going to make holes on the blanket from his nails alone.
“No! I did not.”
“You wouldn’t even look at me! What kind of dad doesn’t look at their kid? You all but disowned me,” Dean’s voice cracked and John could see the beginnings of a break down coming.
Crap, he might have completely misjudged the situation here.
“Dean, son, I didn’t,” John started saying.
“Yes,” Dean interrupted. “You did. I mean, I don’t need you yelling at me all the time, but, you wouldn’t even look at me. I didn’t kill anyone.” Dean’s voice got small and John couldn’t help but feel completely out of his element at the moment.
Naughty, disrespectful, testosterone-crazed, lippy - all of that, he could handle. Loud kids got sent outside, rude kids got their mouths’ washed, disrespectful kids got their butts smacked, and hormone crazed got grounded. Often times, these tended to overlap.
Emotional kids? They got a very confused Dad on their hands.
“Jesus,” John sighed. He leaned forward and started releasing Dean’s grip from the sheets. “I know you didn’t kill anyone Dean.” He tried to keep his voice low and non-threatening. He wasn’t trying to fool the kid into a false sense of safety, he was getting his ass handed to him no doubt, but he didn’t need the kid thinking that he hated him or something either. “I know that.” John kept saying, finally freeing a few fingers.
“I won’t lie to you, you surprised me and you disappointed me.” Dean’s hands tensed underneath his, but he kept tugging at the fingers until they started to loosen. He didn’t even think Dean noticed him doing it.
“I didn’t mean -
“I know you probably didn’t mean to, Dean,” John said, even if some of his brain was finally getting that himself. “You’ve always done your best to make me proud, and you’ve made me more than proud on so many occasions. This was just not one of them.”
And yeah, John wasn’t giving the best lecture talk thing here. What can he say, emotional was his Achilles’ heel. Even if he himself was the emotional one. He couldn’t take the tone of Dean’s voice, the look in the kid’s eyes starting to well up. And damnit, he still intended on beating some sense into his kids’ backside, but even he knew he couldn’t jump the shop at this.
“Is this because we missed your birthday?” John had had the horrible feeling that all of this was because he and Nick hadn’t been able to get back for Dean’s birthday. John tried to be home for shit like that, important shit that kids look forward to. Dean had been looking forward to sixteen since he was six. But, just the night before his birthday, as Nick and John were pulling away from their current motel, assured that they could make the six hour trip no sweat, a blizzard struck them two hours in. They had had to haul into a motel for the next two days. He had called Dean, but even he could have heard the disappointment on his voice.
Dean frowned and looked up at him slightly. He shook his head without a word.
“Listen,” John sighed. He knows what he wants to say, knows what he should say sort of, but he has no idea what to say.
Moments like this, and he really wishes he still had that certain woman’s touch around. His Mary would stake him for how he had been treating Dean the last month, he’s certain.
“You know we wanted to be here, son. We left with plenty of time, but there was no way around that snow storm.”
Dean’s shaking his head again, frowning still.
“It’s not that,” he gritted out and John is somehow even more frustrated now.
Then what the hell is it, he wanted to ask.
“Then what?” John asked instead, trying to keep his frustration in check. “I mean, it’s not your best kept secret that you hated school, but you have to know that something like dropping out - you should have talked that out with me first.”
“I’m old enough,” Dean mumbled. His voice sounds about eight or ten years youngers; like he’s trying to tell his dad he’s old enough to stay home alone, that they don’t have to go to Bobby’s for a week because Nick and John will be away from them.
“Not for this, you’re not,” John hears himself sternly.
“The school let me,” Dean’s spewing back, and he’s making it really hard to take the kid serious and grown up, talking like that.
“Well, that shit’s on them,” he’s frowning right back and he has no clue what to really say. He wants to talk to whoever told his son he was old enough to make that decision without his father, and then he wants to punch them square in the face. It might have been a woman even, John doesn’t give a crap.
“I’m old enough to stay here, take care of Sammy. I’m old enough to drop-out.”
John’s not sure which one of them his boy is trying to convince. He’s not convinced, not by the longest long shot. His kid was a brat waving the brat-flag. He was biting his time because his authority figures were gone and Sammy was still on the stick-thin side.
If Dean managed to convince himself, he has to hand it to the boy. He’s got some imagination. Also, it totally doesn’t look like it. Still, John could care less.
“Like shit you are,” and his cool demeanor is melting away. Quickly, evaporating really. He remembers anger and practically wants to growl at his kid. “You are sixteen years old! Barely! You’re alone because I think it’s too dangerous to take you along, but I thought you were mature enough to handle you two without setting yourselves on fire! Clearly, I should rethink that.”
Dean’s looking up at him, glaring through his one good eye and the other that John can tell isn’t getting any better. Shit, he’s going to need to ice that.
“You -
“You,” John continues, stopping whatever it was that Dean wanted to say. He really didn’t want to hear it. Not quite yet. “know better than to so much as take the car out without letting me know.” His look is a bit intense there, and Dean’s quick glance up at him should be enough to know that hell yeah they were going to talk about that current gem too. “What makes you think that I wouldn’t care about you dropping out?”
Dean shrugged and it’s every fiber of his being fighting his reflects to reach out and start swatting the kid, or even smack him upside the head. Focus, John, he tells himself.
“Dean Winchester,” he voice dropped, and Dean’s shoulders kind of freeze up by his ears. “Shrugging ain’t an answer boy. I ask you a question!” And damnit, he really needed to know.
John knew he didn’t always carry himself as the kind of father that obsessed over his sons’ grades, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of them. Dean was lazy in school, but he didn’t let the kid slack too much. He couldn’t walk him to class and watch him put his best effort forward, but he sure as hell dished out the discipline if he got a call or a note from school saying his son had missed out on the science fair project, that had been assigned a month prior.
Dean never liked school. John knew that. His brothers knew that. Dean made certain his teachers and most of the principals in the lower 48 knew that.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
John’s got one of Dean’s hands still in his own. The other one is loose from the blankets, but its working its way through one of the holes in Dean’s jeans. One that, with a frown and maybe a bit of a growl, John can spot some scrapes on the skin underneath.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He wondered sometimes, when he really shouldn’t be wondering about things like this, if his brain somehow has these saying filed away, because he feels like he’s that every other day to one of the boys. It’s not broken, it’s (fill in brother’s name here) fault, they are clean, and so many things. His kids, but also, he can clearly remember himself and his own brother; and how often had his own father said those words?
“What made you decide to drop out, Dean. I’m getting kind of tired of asking already.”
Dean doesn’t supply him with anything. Fine, there’s enough on the table that he can work his way to the whole dropping-out thing.
“Fine, then,” John gives his son’s hand a slight squeeze before releasing it. He leans back on the chair. It’s time to get this shit done and over with. “Care to tell me where the hell you were Thursday night when you know you’re to be home by ten?”
Dean looked up, his eyes slightly wide, before they found interest in Dean’s jeans again.
“One,” John said, and he’s not surprised when Dean’s glance is shot right back up at him.
“Seriously?”
“Two,” John pointedly continued. He didn’t need to explain the counting to his son. He knew, like his brothers knew, like John had known when he’d been a kid, that had until five to find himself some courage.
Otherwise, all bets were off.
“Dad,” and he sounds all around six.
Something about the counting, John recons, turns all the boys into prepubescent little boys with disbelief that he was counting again.
“Thr-
“I feel asleep!”
And it’s not the answer that John expected. Not at all.
“You feel asleep?” It’s almost hard to believe, especially with his kid. Dean was the hardest one of his sons to get to bed. Nick was old enough that he would warn him, fine he could stay up all night if he wanted, but he better not bitch come five in the morning. Sammy, kid could try to stay awake past ten, and on a weekend John might even let him. But the kid had an internal clock like - well like clockwork. Dean, however, was a pain to put to bed. He always wanted to be up, helping or not helping, watching TV or catching up on some homework he had ignored all week. He was a terror to get to bed, but when he was in bed, he was pretty fast to fall asleep.
So maybe it wasn’t such a surprise that the kid had fallen asleep.
“Where?”
“Out by the court,” Dean nudged his head towards the general direction of over John’s shoulder.
Perfect.
“By the courthouse?” John found that both stupid and a bit hard to believe. He was sure someone would have called the cops if a car was parked too long around there.
“The basketball courts,” Dean retorted, rolling his eyes and everything.
Like the little brat wasn’t in enough trouble.
“Excuse me?” And Dean’s sitting up a little straighter, his fidgeting stopping slightly. Maybe the kid’s finally remembering that he’s not talking to one of his friends or his brothers, or anyone else that would take Dean’s crap. This was his father, plain and simple. If sometimes they could kid around, fine, but that didn’t mean he liked having his kids roll their eyes or shrugging at him.
“Sorry, sir,” Dean’s quick to say.
“What were you doing over there, anyway?” Dean’s athletic, all three of his boys are, but Dean never really went out for sports like that. Sammy liked soccer, he was a wicked good runner, and Nick was pretty good at swimming, having started at four or five one summer that Mary insisted. Dean had tee-ball for a while, and John knew the kid could wrestle, hold his own on a football field, and pitch like a coach’s dream, but he never went out for things.
Dean fidgeted again, and John found that he had reached his limit. Go figure. (Probably lasted longer than he expected, but he somehow always managed to surprise himself with how fast his kids could get him from calm and cool, to kicking their asses.)
John’s reaching out to get Dean’s hand back, and he’s certainly not going to be holding it reassuringly this time. Dean seems to get his intent, because he retracts his hands back, twisting away from him in a way that John thinks his kid might try and make for the door. Fat chance he’d make it, though.
“Dean,” he growls a lot. John knows he growls a lot. He’s an honorary bear for how much he has to growl. Half of the time, he has some sonofabitch monster as the cause of his voice change, sometimes its Bobby or Jim or someone else he’s talking to that’s giving him some kind of shit. But most of the time? He has his kids to blame.
Dean stops moving away from him, but the look on his face clearly states that Dean is rethinking that action. Tough luck, John’s already got a tight grip on him.
And not too long after that, his not-so-old-enough kid is over his lap, getting the five swats he more than deserves for making his father have to ask him everything twice.
He’s quick to release Dean though, because he still hasn’t had a chance to look the kid over. Heck, it’s been over a month since he took a real good look at Dean. Even when he had had the chance to finally make it home after Dean’s birthday, they hadn’t been able to stay but two days before there was an urgent Hunt via the news that they had had to go take care of.
John tries to get a good once through look over his kids if he hadn’t seen them in more than three days, but when he had returned, it was to the news of Dean’s dropping out. He certainly hadn’t felt like playing twenty questions then.
Dean’s grimacing and wiping slightly at his face as he stands back up. John just looked up at him.
“I don’t like repeating myself, Dean,” he reminded him.
Dean takes a deep breath.
“I was just driving around,” he started to shrug before he thought better of it.
“Driving around?” John repeated, like it’s a concept he’s never heard. Dean’s not the kind of kid to just drive around. He’s the kind of kid that had to do and he always found things to do. (Sometimes, he found girls to do, but as a father, he wasn’t going to put too much thought into that thankyouverymuch.) “For what? I thought you had a date?” he added as an afterthought.
“I didn’t have a date.” And the way that Dean spits that part out, John thinks there’s a lot there that isn’t being said.
“Then why were you out that night?”
Yes, he’s aware that he’s a crap father. He should already know why Dean was out. Dean shouldn’t have been out if he didn’t know where he was going. But, John had been slacking on his fatherly duties lately, especially where Dean was concerned.
The way John remembered that night, Dean had announced he was going out around eight. John had bitten his lip as he set about making a list oat the kitchen table for the upcoming hunt. Nick had glanced at both of them before sighing and reminding Dean that they would be leaving at one o’clock. Sammy had been doing the dinner dishes and didn’t seem too interested in their conversation.
Dean had nodded, and he had been gone.
John hadn’t asked where he was going, too mad with his son for having dropped out to think that if something happened, he would like to know where to get a hold of him. Of course, come midnight and two hours pass the kid’s curfew, he was berating himself that slip up.
And yet, he hadn’t done anything then.
So, of course, things had to escalate.
“Dean!”
“I just didn’t want to be here!”
And that kind of cuts into him more than John thought that would. He’d been sixteen once. He’d had an older brother serving in the war and parents that acted like it was the kids still at home that were getting shot at. He’d had the stupidest curfew of all of his friends (eight thirty, like he was ten or something) and he had wanted more than anything to not have to spend his evenings at home with his parents. But Dean wasn’t like that.
Dean was a bit of a homebody. Sure, he liked to go out, like to go on dates more like; but if nothing presented himself, he was fine just watching a movie at home, ragging on Sammy, cooking up dinner. He liked helping out pre-Hunt, and he liked just fixing up his car, music blaring and some pie to tide him over. Simple pleasures, that was Dean.
“Why?” He feels stupid asking it, and he knows as soon as he asked that he’s not going to get an honest answer.
No kid is going to tell their parent that they were being treated like ass by their jerk of a crap father. Not when he’s about to get his butt roasted anyhow.
But Dean had said enough before anyhow. John knew that he had kind of been distant with Dean lately. He knew that they had to talk this thing through, but he had been postponing because he had no idea what to tell his kid.
The look Dean did give him though, was more than enough.
John had to look away than. Crap. If he had a bullet for all the stupid things he had ever done, he’d never waste a penny buying another one. Could probably set up his own ammo shop.
“Look,” John said after taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that. I know I let this thing slide for too long, and you’re reaping the consequences of that now. I get that. It’s still no excuse for you being out that late, or you breaking your grounding while we were gone. Where’d you go this time?”
If it was possible, Dean looked even more uncomfortable now.
“I think it would be easier to pull teeth from you,” John groaned. He’s reaching to grab Dean’s arm again, not going to ask a question twice, and Dean is still right just in front of him. But Dean takes a step back.
“You’re not going to like it.”
“I know I’m not going to like it,” John dropped his hand. As long as the kid was talking, he could wait a bit.
Though, he thought that he heard the shower finally stop. Bad luck for Sammy, they hadn’t even gotten started.
“That doesn’t mean you get to not tell me.” John added, because sometimes you had to tell Dean obvious things like that. The kid could find loop holes in just about everything.
“I got a call,” Dean started to say slowly.
“I read the note,” John said, maybe with a hint of bothered. Maybe with a lot of a hint of bothered. “Care to elaborate?”
Dean stopped himself from shaking his head no. it wasn’t really a question, he knew that. He would have liked it to be a real question. It would be more than enough to take his hits from the things his dad already knew about, he didn’t need to add to that.
“Damnit, Dean,” John groaned. Surprisingly enough, that seemed to loosen his son’s tongue.
And then he heard the story.
“You dropped out of school, because of a girl,” John’s saying as he heard the last of the story.
“She told everyone,” Dean’s clenching his hands and glaring in every direction that doesn’t include his father.
“And your brilliant solution, was to drop out!”
“See, I know you wouldn’t understand,” Dean’s slumped up against the bed, fidgeting from the lingering pain he’s still feeling on his butt.
“Dean,” John’s going to need dental care for how much his kids make him grind and grit through his teeth. He’s actually kind of surprised that he hadn’t cracked a few by now. “Things like that, they buzz over after a while. But you dropping out, makes things that much worse. She got upset, and didn’t want to look like the fool, so she takes it out on you instead.”
“I know why she did it,” Dean glared. “Look, I don’t know how kids acted back when you were my age, but this kind of thing lingers, believe me.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to drop out of high school, Dean!”
“I’m not going to stick around to get verbally abused either!”
John opened his mouth to continue this discussion, but it was pointless. They would likely be moving in a few days, and Dean would go to another high school (because he was going) and no one would ever know about the Lesley Spooner incident.
Now, he could move onto more pressing matters.
“Fine, whatever, we’re going to be here for three more days. Probably less. We can get you back on track at the next school. Don’t! Do not interrupt me. Yes, you are going to school, I don’t care how old you are, or how old you think you are, you are not dropping out and you are going to graduate high school if I have to drag your ass to whatever school we’re at every damn day!
“You know how I feel about fighting, Dean. This was obviously an ambush, and it doesn’t look like you got the better hand on this. Had you just stayed home like you were supposed to, we could have avoided a lot of this trouble.” John didn’t want to vocalize that if Dean hadn’t gotten his ass handed to him by those bastard jocks, he might still not be talking to his son. He didn’t need to focus on that. “Stand up.”
Dean groaned, but he stood up all the same. Thank goodness, thought John, at least the kid was done fighting him about every little thing.
Dean’s hands went to undo his jeans, loosening the belt that held it together, not that the kid really needed it. He was already more lean muscle than most kids his age saw in their whole lives. If anything, the boy was growing out of those pants.
“Shirt too,” he said.
The look Dean gave him then was one of slight fear. Good, the kid had put him through enough in the last month that a little misplaced fear wasn’t bad.
John waited until Dean stood in just his boxers, shirt and pants tossed onto the bed, before standing and moving to his dresser. Once there, he grabbed on old shirt of his and the dreaded, hated, and cursed paddle. It wasn’t often that John used the thing, he figured he was plenty strong to get him boys more than sorry for their actions, but sometimes if the situation called for it (or he had to dish out more than one spanking), then the handy device made its appearance.
As it was, Dean’s eyes went wide at its reappearance. Kid hadn’t driven him to actually paddle him in almost a year. Well, so ended the streak.
John tossed both onto the bed, he approached Dean, taking his arm in hand once again. However, instead of tugging him onto his lap, John simply moved the arm away, giving him a clearer view of his son’s side. It was bruised, already turning dark, and it was probably plenty painful.
“Anything broken?” he asked, even as he lightly brushed his fingers against the skin.
Dean hissed at the touch, but then again, Dean was always a bit more sensitive on his bruises.
“No sir, just bruised.”
That was John’s conclusion too. He took Dean’s arm again, this time turning him slightly to get a full look at him. His legs looked fine, a few scratches by the knee where the jeans had torn. A bit bruised on the other, probably from falling to the ground. His arms were fine, probably protected from the layers his kids always wore. Looking down at his feet, they were fine too. And they better damn well be, those boots were one thing John knew was worth shelling some actual money for. If they couldn’t protect him from some ambush with some stupid high school jocks pissed about Dean ‘getting with their maybe girlfriend’ then what the hell good would they be.
“Concussion?” He moved in, looking into his kids eyes. No dazey-hazey look there.
“No sir,” Dean replied, and looked away.
John nodded, dropping Dean’s arm.
“How bad a bruising?” John pointed to Dean’s ribs.
Dean frowned and looked down. He hadn’t thought too much about his own pain. In fact, from the moment he spotted the truck by the rental, he stopped thinking about the pain he had and started thinking about the pain that might be coming his way. Now though, well, it was mostly a tolerable throb. He’d gotten kicked a few times in the chest and elbowed while the other boys held him back. Bastard.
“I can handle it,” Dean blushed thinking about, well what was about to happen.
He almost wished his dad went back to not talking to him.
John frowned, but nodded. If the kid was lying, it would only hurt himself. Besides, he’d give him a few pain relievers afterwards. There wouldn’t be any point in giving them now.
“Alright then,” John moved to sit down on the bed, beside Dean’s sort of folded - in that teenage boy, rolled into a ball kind of way - and looked expectantly back at his son.
Dean closed his eyes, but he stepped forward until John once again had a hold on his arm and could slowly lower him over his lap. Mostly, John tried to position Dean so that he wouldn’t hurt him more than he was intending to.
John waited a second, watching to see if Dean showed any signs of distress. When it was apparent that Dean was as comfortable as he could be, mostly lying on the bed, except for his butt, which of course wasn’t supposed to be comfortable at the moment.
Dean’s hand gripped at the blankets once again. He took a deep breath and tried to imagine himself anywhere else. He hated this! Hated everything about what was about to happen.
Might be why it was so effective.
Well, mostly effective. It was pretty rare for him to repeat his stupidity.
Of course, all thoughts of deep breathing and happy places flew out the window as his boxers left his person exposed and met themselves on the ground.
“Dad,” he wiggled and whined. This was so not cool. The guy was ignoring him for weeks, and now to just get him all - like that - for a - you know.
“Keep still,” John said, gripping Dean tightly around the waist. The last thing he needed was for Dean to flop over and hurt himself even more than he already was.
“Come on,” Dean sighed, trying to keep the wiggling down. Failing miserably. “You don’t have to-
John raised his hand and dropped it quickly and with more force than might have been strictly needed.
And any little momentum of thought left Dean the second his butt erupted in pain.
“Jees!”He bit his lip to keep from cursing. So not the position to curse in, especially in the mood he’d put his father in.
“Think twice before you talk, son,” John warned him, raising his hand a second time.
John wasn’t in the mood to be lenient. As he started dishing out swat after swat, he was trying to convey that to the fullest. His son being rebellious might not have been as a big of a thing as John had mentally made it out to be. He should have gotten over it weeks ago.
But, leave it to Dean to make matters worse.
Only his son would think that the way to get his dad’s approval or consent, John wasn’t sure exactly which his son was seeking with his actions, would be to make him even madder.
Breaking curfew, while not deadly, caused John grief. He set curfews not just so that he could be sure that his sons weren’t out making nuisances of themselves, but because he knew that there were things out there, things people wouldn’t believe him about if he tried, that would more than gladly take his sons from him. That alone would have landed any one of the boys over his lap.
“Dad! Please,” Dean cried out, burying his head into the presumed safety of his arms.
He really should have taken the few minutes to get his kid straightened out before the last Hunt. Not that he was going to tell Nick he was right or anything.
John wrapped his arm tighter around Dean’s waist. “Settle down, before you hurt your ribs,” he chastised, dropping another powerful smack to the teen’s rosy bottom.
Dean grit his teeth at the words. His ribs? He couldn’t care less about his ribs at the moment. His ribs were the last thing on his mind! His ass, however, was sending smoke signals, begging for assistance and relief.
Dean only wished he could oblige.
It was bad. Dean could almost judge how bad a spanking would be just from how John started it. And it was bad.
Also, how sad is it that this happened enough to him, that he could judge something like that? He might have to seriously have to start rethinking some life choices.
John positioned himself so that he could aim a few smacks lower down against the under curve of Dean’s bottom. He didn’t wish to tilt him any which way, fearing that the move would cause more damage to the ribs. Likewise, as the skin presented turned rosy and then started climbing towards crimson and auburn, John started to maybe feel a bit lenient.
From the sound of Dean’s reaction, he certainly couldn’t tell the difference.
“Okay! Owww! Dad, please! I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!”
Dean tried to regain composure. He tried to not sound like a bubbling six year old and he tried to convey himself as repent and remorseful. With the way John kept spanking, he figured he wasn’t getting that point across.
“Daaaddd!” He was certain the man’s hand had been replaced, maybe even rebuilt, within the past months. With three boys, his dad certainly would need the sub.
“You do not break curfew just to piss me off, Dean Michael,” John responded, stopping his hand enough that he wanted to make certain Dean heard him. “If I expect you home, you damn well better be home!”
He started spanking again, maintaining to a position for two smacks before blazing into another one.
“Okay! Okay, I know that!” Dean mumbled, wiping his eyes (uselessly, since they instantly refilled with tears) on the sheets below him. “Curfews aren’t meant to be broken!”
John shook his head at his son, but he continued spanking. Dean might be saying it to stop his punishment, but John was completely serious about it. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about, especially where the boys were concerned, to have the added worry.
“No! They are not!” Having covered every part of Dean’s bottom, John stilled his hand for a moment. “And neither are groundings, are they?”
Dean shook his head, leaning his forehead against his arms. “No sir!”
“Does it matter who dishes out the punishment?”
Dean groaned slightly, or he sobbed slightly, neither could really tell.
“No,” he muttered into his arms. “No s-sir,” Dean stammered out. “Don’t m-matter who doles it ou-out.”
“That’s right, it doesn’t matter, you’re still expected to respect it.”
John concentrated this part of the spanking more on Dean’s thighs. Dean’s butt was already bright and radiating its own heat wave. Not that Dean’s cries got any lower from the attention to the new area.
“I trust you to follow the rules, Dean,” John said, landing his tenth swat to the pinkened thighs. “Not just when I’m home to see you do it. Always.”
Dean nodded. His breathing hitched uncontrollably and tears flowing freely.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, though it was getting harder to talk.
John picked up the paddle than. It felt heavier in his hand, as it always did when he was ready to actually use the thing. It felt like it could do some serious damage, and he almost convinced himself to place it down.
“This last bit,” John turned to stare at the back of his son’s head. Dean’s shoulders tensed, already knowing what was coming. At his son’s resolve, John knew he had to go through with this, just like he had had to every time before now and every time he would have to in the future. “This is for ever doubting me, Dean. For ever thinking that I could look at you as anything but my son. But mostly, this is for trying to test me.
“You don’t have to go to such lengths to get my attention, Deano. But when you do, just remember it’s not always going to be the kind of attention you want.” John brought the paddle up, and began a steady spanking again.
The spanking continued for a bit longer, but Dean never noticed when his father stopped. He was too busy feeling extremely sorry for himself, and more so for having tested his father so far It was twelve cracks with the paddle in all, but all Dean could say for certain was that they were more than three and closer to a herd of killer bees..
He should know better by now, he kept telling himself. He should know better, but he never seemed to.
When he stopped crying enough to gather his breathing, John helped pull his boxers back up. Dean could have done without the cloth on his burning bottom for eternity, for sure. Since when did they make those things out of sandpaper anyway?
John helped Dean to stand, instantly taking Dean in his arms. Dean wasn’t too shy about returning the gesture. He had missed it for too long to care about his manner of distress, undress, and general embarrassment.
“I love you too much, Dean,” John said, wrapping his arms around his too young son. The kid had no idea how much he meant to him. John didn’t even realize how much the boys meant to him until he was faced with moments like these. And then, the realization often times hurt. “So damn much, kid.”
“I know,” Dean said, burying his tears and face into John’s shirt. “M’ sorry.”
John reached up and rubbed at Dean’s hair slightly.
“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner.” He leaned down slightly and kissed at the sandy blond locks. He could only get away with that in moments like these. Least he somehow made his son uncool by his mere presence. “I promise you, I won’t let that happen again.”
“ S’okay,” Dean leaned away from him enough to share a look with his father. “You can just ground yourself, or have Bobby beat your ass, and we’ll call it even.”
“Oh yeah?” John frowned, reaching up to smack Dean lightly on the head. “How about not?” He racked his fingers through Dean’s hair a bit rougher, ending by tangling his fingers at the base of his neck and hugging Dean to him once again. “My little smartass.”
~~~~
Nick looked up as Dean made his slow exit from John’s room. He was sniffing and wiping at his very red eyes. He was walking slowly, dressed in his boxers, socks, and one of Dad’s shirts, and Nick felt a tiny bit of sorry for him.
Just a little though.
Sam was on Nick’s lap, ears covered with ear phones and plugged into a Walkman. He was completely unaware of Dean’s reappearance.
Dean stopped a few steps from the back of the couch where his brothers were. He glanced at everything but in Nick’s direction, feeling completely uncomfortable.
“Just felt like gracing me with your presence?” Nick asked after a moment of silence passed.
Dean sighed and rolled his eyes.
“No,” he replied instead. “I just, look I wasn’t trying to say that I didn’t listen to you or whatever. I mean, I didn’t break the grounding because of you. It wasn’t about that.” Dean wiped at his eyes again, blinking back a few more of the stubborn strays.
“I knew that,” Nick sat up slightly. “I told Dad as much. You were pissed, at him at yourself - I don’t know. It was a stupid thing to do,” he fixed his brother with a stern look. “And damn disrespectful too. Not to mention stupid, since you clearly got your ass handed to you now twice.”
“Yeah,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Thanks Nicky.”
“What I mean, smartass,” Nick snapped his fingers to get Dean back into the seriousness of the conversation. “Is that it’s not worth it. Not being mad at Dad, a girl, stupid kids in your school. Whatever, it’s not worth making your family fear for your safety. You wouldn’t like any one of us doing that to you, would you?”
“No,” Dean looked down at his feet. John Winchester did more than enough to make his son feel sorry, but Nick certainly knew how to add to it. “That would suck.”
“That would suck big time. Breaking curfew and then taking off like that? You don’t have to start acting stupid just because you’re no longer in school, Dean.”
Dean looked up slightly to glare at Nick, but he let it go. His actions were pretty stupid as of late.
“You’re right,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’m sorry.”
Nick frowned and smiled slightly.
“What was that?”
“I’m sorry, Nick.”
“No,” Nick shook his head. “That other thing.”
Dean huffed out and glared at his brother. Older or not, sometimes the guy was just a prick.
“Nothing,” Dean turned around. “I didn’t say anything!”
“No, I think I heard something,” Nick said to his back. “I think I heard that I was right? Did you admit I was right? I mean, I know I’m always right -
“I didn’t say anything!” Dean repeated himself, moving to the pizza boxes that his brothers had clearly already been ravish through.
“- but if you insist on saying it, I’m not stopping you.”
Nick looked up to smile at Dean’s back. he could see Dean taking three pieces onto his paper plate. It just accord to him, Dean really hadn’t been eating a lot lately. He was glad to see things going back to normal.
Tugging Sam’s headphones off, the eleven year old finally looked up from his book.
“Go give your brother a hug,” he instructed, pushing slightly to get Sam off of his lap.
Sam looked up, instantly spotted Dean, and leaped up, quickly having Dean within his arms, murmuring to him. Dean hugged him back just as tight.
END.
Three sets of eyes turned to greet him as Dean entered the house. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Instead, he moved over to the table and placed the pizza boxes on the table.
“What the Hell happened to you?!” Nick was the first to react.
“Crap, are you okay?” Sam added, rushing over to Dean’s side, getting to him before Nick’s limping could.
“I’m fine,” Dean muttered, turning to keep his face away from them. He moved a few of the papers on the table, making sure that they wouldn’t touch the box and come away greasy.
“Like hell you are!” and suddenly Dean was flipped around and looking into his father’s not pleased eyes. John took hold of his chin, ignoring Dean’s wince at the touch, and tilted the teen’s head one way, then the other, making assessment to his son’s condition.
With three boys, and their nomadic lifestyle, John Winchester wouldn’t kid himself into thinking that his kids didn’t fight. He was called in on all kinds of things from the schools they went to, and Dean was the worst offender, getting into more scraps than a professional boxer.
That didn’t mean that when he saw a black eye and bloody nose, he was immune to the gut wrenching knowledge that someone had laid their hands on his kid.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” Dean replied, but it came out a little lisped.
Frowning, John forced Dean’s mouth opened wider, noticing the red and slight swell to his gums. The kid had taken quite a few hits. He reached into Dean’s mouth, checking and grateful when none of the teeth appeared loose. Though he did get a few drops of blood from the gums.
Releasing Dean’s face, John decided then and there, that enough was enough.
“You have five seconds to tell me where you were, little boy, and I’m warning you now - I’m in no mood to beat around the bush.”
Dean looked slightly startled but instead of talking, he looked away from them and towards the table.
“Pizza come with a side of knuckle ‘round these parts?” Nick added.
John glared at his eldest son, but his attention returned to Dean.
Nick noted the look, however, and unlike Dean currently, he knew better than to test the man.
“Hey Sammy, how about you and me head out and get us a few extra boxes, or hey I bet there’s some groceries and things we should get.”
Sam frowned at his brother, but he quickly came to the conclusion too that whatever was going on between Dad and Dean was about to erupt.
“Nicholas Aaron,” John growled, not even letting the teen get two steps away. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? You have enough drugs in you to lay you flat,” he quickly chided. Pointing towards the couch, John leveled Nick with a look and didn’t lower his hand until Nick sighed and raised his hands in defeat, limping his way back to the couch.
“Sammy, take your shower,” John continued, turning a quick eye to his youngest before staring straight at Dean. Or at least, at his better eye. “Dean, go to my room.”
Sam started to open his mouth to protest, it was really the principal of the matter. He didn’t need to be sent away like a child, but the next instructions left little to the mind. There was only two reasons John sent his sons to his room (when he had one), and it didn’t look like Dean was about to become uncontrollably ill at any moment.
“Yessir,” Sam said, turning tail and dashing over to the bathroom. He turned on the water, full blast, hoping it would drown out the inevitable noise that would follow. Sam bit his lip, he felt bad for Dean. He could tell, in the past two weeks, last month really, that Dean wasn’t fully himself. His fight with Dad certainly wasn’t helping, and now Dean was going to have to pay the price for his actions.
Still, Sam was sympathetic, he just hoped that, whatever funk had gotten into Dean, Dad would work it out of him.
Dean, on the other hand, stifled at the command. There was only one way this was heading, and he wasn’t going to go to his father’s room. While he didn’t voice it, his face certainly stated that and more.
“Now, Dean,” John said, his voice getting deadly lower.
John couldn’t help it. He had it ingrained in him, probably from his own father, but there was something about his kids not doing as they were told, that he started seeing in almost Technicolor and his voice reflected some evil foe of the cinema era. At least it did to his own ears. He had often heard that that particular tone stroke fear in more than one man.
But apparently, not the one before him.
Some balls, his kid.
John gripped Dean’s upper arm tightly, loosening his grip slightly at his son’s cringe and groan. He needed to look the kid over, check for more injuries, and he would make certain to do that, but damn if he had to get rid of the brat that inhabited his son first.
John walked Dean over to the beginning of the hall, just across the bathroom, and released Dean’s arm. Instead, he reached down and made sure he made himself perfectly clear that he was so done taking crap from a sixteen year old. Four smacks, and he was positive that they had reached their intended target (mostly starting to break down Dean’s stubborn resistance), because not only was his own hand tingling, but Dean hissed through the whole of them.
“Go wait in my room, now,” John didn’t need to point the room out, but just like with Nick, he did and he stayed like that until Dean finally, finally, did as he was told.
John wasn’t sure if Dean slammed the door, or if his own anger was amplifying in his ears, but he was going to let that slide for now. He had enough to deal with that kid.
“About time,” Nick said, glancing over the edge of the couch’s armrest at him.
“You keep your mouth shut!”
Nick turned around and closed his eyes, but there was little to stop him from running his mouth.
“Fine, I won’t say how we could all have avoided this headache if you would have just dealt with Dean a month ago like I sa- OW!” Nick opened his eyes and reached up to rub his head.
“Keep it shut! Or I’ll deal with you next!”
Eyes widening slightly, Nick laid back down and closed his eyes. He liked to remind himself that he was nineteen and no longer a child. But he had already gotten the message loud and clear a few months ago that his dad didn’t quite consider him an adult yet. At least not adult enough to not deserve a trip over his knee.
“That’s what I thought.” John walked away and walked towards his room. He would have liked more time to work through his anger, and Dean had certainly made him build up plenty of it, but it wouldn’t be fair to any of them. Sam was already going to be wasting the whole of the apartment’s supply of water just to try and drown out the noise, and John knew he had quite a talk ahead of him.
~~~~
Dean felt himself stiffen when the door opened and closed behind him. He heard his father sigh deeply, and he knew he was the cause of it. He couldn’t help himself, honestly. It might be that whole teenage rebellion thing Dad always mumbled about finally kicking in, but Dean couldn’t do anything about it.
He should have been sitting on the bed, or even in some corner like a toddler or something. Instead, he was by the window, glancing out at the darkening sky. It was only four in the afternoon, but February was dead center winter, and it got dark plenty fast.
“Sit down,” his father’s growl came.
Dean didn’t think this was fair. This wasn’t one bit fair and his dad knew it. And if he didn’t know it, it still wasn’t fair.
He turned around, slowly, and walked, ever so slowly, to where his father was pointing. And, as he passed just next to the guy, got swatted twice for his trouble. Figured. He grunted, but sat down nonetheless. Six swats in already, and they hadn’t even gotten to the spanking part yet. It just wasn’t fair at all.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, kid, but I am not in the mood. I warned you once already. I won’t warn you again.”
Dean chanced a quick glance at John, watching as his father pulled the desk chair away from the cluttered desk, and in front of where Dean now sat.
“This isn’t fair,” Dean mumbled, as John sat down in front of him.
John frowned, feeling a bit of déjà vu. A six year old Dean, gripping his hand tight, not wanting to start the first grade; ten year old Dean, and his first broken leg; eleven year old Dean and his first suspension, even though the other kid started it; fourteen year old Dean and the first time they had to ‘bury’ a friend. Life’s not fair, John wanted to say. He had wanted to say it each and every one of those times too, but he didn’t. Life wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t fair to his boys most of all, but he didn’t have to be the one to rub it in.
“What’s not fair?” he asked instead.
“You can’t do this!” Dean’s hands gripped at the blankets beneath him. John frowned slightly, they were different than the ones that were on when he had left a week ago.
And he doubted Sammy would have thought to do such a thing. A grounded Dean was a strange thing, but he would remember to thank the boy, after he was done busting his ass, of course.
“Can’t do what?” John said, a hint of bother in his tone. “This?” he motioned in between them. “Or what I’m going to do in a moment? Because I think we both know where this is headed.”
“Urgh,” Dean groaned through gritted teeth. “This! Everything! You can’t just not and then be again! It’s not fair.”
John had warned his son about pissing him off, but he honestly didn’t think Dean was trying to do that. Dean was the least vocal of his sons. Not to say that the kid didn’t have a smart mouth on him when he wanted, or that more than more person had warned him that his son was a bit of a charmer with the woman folk. But, when it mattered, Dean just wouldn’t talk about things.
He knew this, and John wasn’t trying to be an asshole to his kid. A lot of times, he let the kid slide on things. Sure, his sons and the majority of the people that knew him would turn their eyebrows up at that statement, but John knew that it was mostly true. Just like there were also times that he should have let things slide, let the boy(s) off with a warning, but he hadn’t. It was a crappy balance for sure. But no one said parenting was easy.
And when he did make Dean talk, it didn’t always come out so linear.
“What?”
“You can’t just stop being my dad and then decide to be my dad again,” Dean said, taking a breath and gripping the sheets again. “You can’t mess with me like that, it’s not fair!”
“What the fuck?” John seriously felt like banging his head on the wall. “Dean Michael, I never, nor will I ever, stopped being your father. Get -
“Yes you did!” Dean’s grip got tight enough that John feared he was going to make holes on the blanket from his nails alone.
“No! I did not.”
“You wouldn’t even look at me! What kind of dad doesn’t look at their kid? You all but disowned me,” Dean’s voice cracked and John could see the beginnings of a break down coming.
Crap, he might have completely misjudged the situation here.
“Dean, son, I didn’t,” John started saying.
“Yes,” Dean interrupted. “You did. I mean, I don’t need you yelling at me all the time, but, you wouldn’t even look at me. I didn’t kill anyone.” Dean’s voice got small and John couldn’t help but feel completely out of his element at the moment.
Naughty, disrespectful, testosterone-crazed, lippy - all of that, he could handle. Loud kids got sent outside, rude kids got their mouths’ washed, disrespectful kids got their butts smacked, and hormone crazed got grounded. Often times, these tended to overlap.
Emotional kids? They got a very confused Dad on their hands.
“Jesus,” John sighed. He leaned forward and started releasing Dean’s grip from the sheets. “I know you didn’t kill anyone Dean.” He tried to keep his voice low and non-threatening. He wasn’t trying to fool the kid into a false sense of safety, he was getting his ass handed to him no doubt, but he didn’t need the kid thinking that he hated him or something either. “I know that.” John kept saying, finally freeing a few fingers.
“I won’t lie to you, you surprised me and you disappointed me.” Dean’s hands tensed underneath his, but he kept tugging at the fingers until they started to loosen. He didn’t even think Dean noticed him doing it.
“I didn’t mean -
“I know you probably didn’t mean to, Dean,” John said, even if some of his brain was finally getting that himself. “You’ve always done your best to make me proud, and you’ve made me more than proud on so many occasions. This was just not one of them.”
And yeah, John wasn’t giving the best lecture talk thing here. What can he say, emotional was his Achilles’ heel. Even if he himself was the emotional one. He couldn’t take the tone of Dean’s voice, the look in the kid’s eyes starting to well up. And damnit, he still intended on beating some sense into his kids’ backside, but even he knew he couldn’t jump the shop at this.
“Is this because we missed your birthday?” John had had the horrible feeling that all of this was because he and Nick hadn’t been able to get back for Dean’s birthday. John tried to be home for shit like that, important shit that kids look forward to. Dean had been looking forward to sixteen since he was six. But, just the night before his birthday, as Nick and John were pulling away from their current motel, assured that they could make the six hour trip no sweat, a blizzard struck them two hours in. They had had to haul into a motel for the next two days. He had called Dean, but even he could have heard the disappointment on his voice.
Dean frowned and looked up at him slightly. He shook his head without a word.
“Listen,” John sighed. He knows what he wants to say, knows what he should say sort of, but he has no idea what to say.
Moments like this, and he really wishes he still had that certain woman’s touch around. His Mary would stake him for how he had been treating Dean the last month, he’s certain.
“You know we wanted to be here, son. We left with plenty of time, but there was no way around that snow storm.”
Dean’s shaking his head again, frowning still.
“It’s not that,” he gritted out and John is somehow even more frustrated now.
Then what the hell is it, he wanted to ask.
“Then what?” John asked instead, trying to keep his frustration in check. “I mean, it’s not your best kept secret that you hated school, but you have to know that something like dropping out - you should have talked that out with me first.”
“I’m old enough,” Dean mumbled. His voice sounds about eight or ten years youngers; like he’s trying to tell his dad he’s old enough to stay home alone, that they don’t have to go to Bobby’s for a week because Nick and John will be away from them.
“Not for this, you’re not,” John hears himself sternly.
“The school let me,” Dean’s spewing back, and he’s making it really hard to take the kid serious and grown up, talking like that.
“Well, that shit’s on them,” he’s frowning right back and he has no clue what to really say. He wants to talk to whoever told his son he was old enough to make that decision without his father, and then he wants to punch them square in the face. It might have been a woman even, John doesn’t give a crap.
“I’m old enough to stay here, take care of Sammy. I’m old enough to drop-out.”
John’s not sure which one of them his boy is trying to convince. He’s not convinced, not by the longest long shot. His kid was a brat waving the brat-flag. He was biting his time because his authority figures were gone and Sammy was still on the stick-thin side.
If Dean managed to convince himself, he has to hand it to the boy. He’s got some imagination. Also, it totally doesn’t look like it. Still, John could care less.
“Like shit you are,” and his cool demeanor is melting away. Quickly, evaporating really. He remembers anger and practically wants to growl at his kid. “You are sixteen years old! Barely! You’re alone because I think it’s too dangerous to take you along, but I thought you were mature enough to handle you two without setting yourselves on fire! Clearly, I should rethink that.”
Dean’s looking up at him, glaring through his one good eye and the other that John can tell isn’t getting any better. Shit, he’s going to need to ice that.
“You -
“You,” John continues, stopping whatever it was that Dean wanted to say. He really didn’t want to hear it. Not quite yet. “know better than to so much as take the car out without letting me know.” His look is a bit intense there, and Dean’s quick glance up at him should be enough to know that hell yeah they were going to talk about that current gem too. “What makes you think that I wouldn’t care about you dropping out?”
Dean shrugged and it’s every fiber of his being fighting his reflects to reach out and start swatting the kid, or even smack him upside the head. Focus, John, he tells himself.
“Dean Winchester,” he voice dropped, and Dean’s shoulders kind of freeze up by his ears. “Shrugging ain’t an answer boy. I ask you a question!” And damnit, he really needed to know.
John knew he didn’t always carry himself as the kind of father that obsessed over his sons’ grades, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of them. Dean was lazy in school, but he didn’t let the kid slack too much. He couldn’t walk him to class and watch him put his best effort forward, but he sure as hell dished out the discipline if he got a call or a note from school saying his son had missed out on the science fair project, that had been assigned a month prior.
Dean never liked school. John knew that. His brothers knew that. Dean made certain his teachers and most of the principals in the lower 48 knew that.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
John’s got one of Dean’s hands still in his own. The other one is loose from the blankets, but its working its way through one of the holes in Dean’s jeans. One that, with a frown and maybe a bit of a growl, John can spot some scrapes on the skin underneath.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He wondered sometimes, when he really shouldn’t be wondering about things like this, if his brain somehow has these saying filed away, because he feels like he’s that every other day to one of the boys. It’s not broken, it’s (fill in brother’s name here) fault, they are clean, and so many things. His kids, but also, he can clearly remember himself and his own brother; and how often had his own father said those words?
“What made you decide to drop out, Dean. I’m getting kind of tired of asking already.”
Dean doesn’t supply him with anything. Fine, there’s enough on the table that he can work his way to the whole dropping-out thing.
“Fine, then,” John gives his son’s hand a slight squeeze before releasing it. He leans back on the chair. It’s time to get this shit done and over with. “Care to tell me where the hell you were Thursday night when you know you’re to be home by ten?”
Dean looked up, his eyes slightly wide, before they found interest in Dean’s jeans again.
“One,” John said, and he’s not surprised when Dean’s glance is shot right back up at him.
“Seriously?”
“Two,” John pointedly continued. He didn’t need to explain the counting to his son. He knew, like his brothers knew, like John had known when he’d been a kid, that had until five to find himself some courage.
Otherwise, all bets were off.
“Dad,” and he sounds all around six.
Something about the counting, John recons, turns all the boys into prepubescent little boys with disbelief that he was counting again.
“Thr-
“I feel asleep!”
And it’s not the answer that John expected. Not at all.
“You feel asleep?” It’s almost hard to believe, especially with his kid. Dean was the hardest one of his sons to get to bed. Nick was old enough that he would warn him, fine he could stay up all night if he wanted, but he better not bitch come five in the morning. Sammy, kid could try to stay awake past ten, and on a weekend John might even let him. But the kid had an internal clock like - well like clockwork. Dean, however, was a pain to put to bed. He always wanted to be up, helping or not helping, watching TV or catching up on some homework he had ignored all week. He was a terror to get to bed, but when he was in bed, he was pretty fast to fall asleep.
So maybe it wasn’t such a surprise that the kid had fallen asleep.
“Where?”
“Out by the court,” Dean nudged his head towards the general direction of over John’s shoulder.
Perfect.
“By the courthouse?” John found that both stupid and a bit hard to believe. He was sure someone would have called the cops if a car was parked too long around there.
“The basketball courts,” Dean retorted, rolling his eyes and everything.
Like the little brat wasn’t in enough trouble.
“Excuse me?” And Dean’s sitting up a little straighter, his fidgeting stopping slightly. Maybe the kid’s finally remembering that he’s not talking to one of his friends or his brothers, or anyone else that would take Dean’s crap. This was his father, plain and simple. If sometimes they could kid around, fine, but that didn’t mean he liked having his kids roll their eyes or shrugging at him.
“Sorry, sir,” Dean’s quick to say.
“What were you doing over there, anyway?” Dean’s athletic, all three of his boys are, but Dean never really went out for sports like that. Sammy liked soccer, he was a wicked good runner, and Nick was pretty good at swimming, having started at four or five one summer that Mary insisted. Dean had tee-ball for a while, and John knew the kid could wrestle, hold his own on a football field, and pitch like a coach’s dream, but he never went out for things.
Dean fidgeted again, and John found that he had reached his limit. Go figure. (Probably lasted longer than he expected, but he somehow always managed to surprise himself with how fast his kids could get him from calm and cool, to kicking their asses.)
John’s reaching out to get Dean’s hand back, and he’s certainly not going to be holding it reassuringly this time. Dean seems to get his intent, because he retracts his hands back, twisting away from him in a way that John thinks his kid might try and make for the door. Fat chance he’d make it, though.
“Dean,” he growls a lot. John knows he growls a lot. He’s an honorary bear for how much he has to growl. Half of the time, he has some sonofabitch monster as the cause of his voice change, sometimes its Bobby or Jim or someone else he’s talking to that’s giving him some kind of shit. But most of the time? He has his kids to blame.
Dean stops moving away from him, but the look on his face clearly states that Dean is rethinking that action. Tough luck, John’s already got a tight grip on him.
And not too long after that, his not-so-old-enough kid is over his lap, getting the five swats he more than deserves for making his father have to ask him everything twice.
He’s quick to release Dean though, because he still hasn’t had a chance to look the kid over. Heck, it’s been over a month since he took a real good look at Dean. Even when he had had the chance to finally make it home after Dean’s birthday, they hadn’t been able to stay but two days before there was an urgent Hunt via the news that they had had to go take care of.
John tries to get a good once through look over his kids if he hadn’t seen them in more than three days, but when he had returned, it was to the news of Dean’s dropping out. He certainly hadn’t felt like playing twenty questions then.
Dean’s grimacing and wiping slightly at his face as he stands back up. John just looked up at him.
“I don’t like repeating myself, Dean,” he reminded him.
Dean takes a deep breath.
“I was just driving around,” he started to shrug before he thought better of it.
“Driving around?” John repeated, like it’s a concept he’s never heard. Dean’s not the kind of kid to just drive around. He’s the kind of kid that had to do and he always found things to do. (Sometimes, he found girls to do, but as a father, he wasn’t going to put too much thought into that thankyouverymuch.) “For what? I thought you had a date?” he added as an afterthought.
“I didn’t have a date.” And the way that Dean spits that part out, John thinks there’s a lot there that isn’t being said.
“Then why were you out that night?”
Yes, he’s aware that he’s a crap father. He should already know why Dean was out. Dean shouldn’t have been out if he didn’t know where he was going. But, John had been slacking on his fatherly duties lately, especially where Dean was concerned.
The way John remembered that night, Dean had announced he was going out around eight. John had bitten his lip as he set about making a list oat the kitchen table for the upcoming hunt. Nick had glanced at both of them before sighing and reminding Dean that they would be leaving at one o’clock. Sammy had been doing the dinner dishes and didn’t seem too interested in their conversation.
Dean had nodded, and he had been gone.
John hadn’t asked where he was going, too mad with his son for having dropped out to think that if something happened, he would like to know where to get a hold of him. Of course, come midnight and two hours pass the kid’s curfew, he was berating himself that slip up.
And yet, he hadn’t done anything then.
So, of course, things had to escalate.
“Dean!”
“I just didn’t want to be here!”
And that kind of cuts into him more than John thought that would. He’d been sixteen once. He’d had an older brother serving in the war and parents that acted like it was the kids still at home that were getting shot at. He’d had the stupidest curfew of all of his friends (eight thirty, like he was ten or something) and he had wanted more than anything to not have to spend his evenings at home with his parents. But Dean wasn’t like that.
Dean was a bit of a homebody. Sure, he liked to go out, like to go on dates more like; but if nothing presented himself, he was fine just watching a movie at home, ragging on Sammy, cooking up dinner. He liked helping out pre-Hunt, and he liked just fixing up his car, music blaring and some pie to tide him over. Simple pleasures, that was Dean.
“Why?” He feels stupid asking it, and he knows as soon as he asked that he’s not going to get an honest answer.
No kid is going to tell their parent that they were being treated like ass by their jerk of a crap father. Not when he’s about to get his butt roasted anyhow.
But Dean had said enough before anyhow. John knew that he had kind of been distant with Dean lately. He knew that they had to talk this thing through, but he had been postponing because he had no idea what to tell his kid.
The look Dean did give him though, was more than enough.
John had to look away than. Crap. If he had a bullet for all the stupid things he had ever done, he’d never waste a penny buying another one. Could probably set up his own ammo shop.
“Look,” John said after taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that. I know I let this thing slide for too long, and you’re reaping the consequences of that now. I get that. It’s still no excuse for you being out that late, or you breaking your grounding while we were gone. Where’d you go this time?”
If it was possible, Dean looked even more uncomfortable now.
“I think it would be easier to pull teeth from you,” John groaned. He’s reaching to grab Dean’s arm again, not going to ask a question twice, and Dean is still right just in front of him. But Dean takes a step back.
“You’re not going to like it.”
“I know I’m not going to like it,” John dropped his hand. As long as the kid was talking, he could wait a bit.
Though, he thought that he heard the shower finally stop. Bad luck for Sammy, they hadn’t even gotten started.
“That doesn’t mean you get to not tell me.” John added, because sometimes you had to tell Dean obvious things like that. The kid could find loop holes in just about everything.
“I got a call,” Dean started to say slowly.
“I read the note,” John said, maybe with a hint of bothered. Maybe with a lot of a hint of bothered. “Care to elaborate?”
Dean stopped himself from shaking his head no. it wasn’t really a question, he knew that. He would have liked it to be a real question. It would be more than enough to take his hits from the things his dad already knew about, he didn’t need to add to that.
“Damnit, Dean,” John groaned. Surprisingly enough, that seemed to loosen his son’s tongue.
And then he heard the story.
“You dropped out of school, because of a girl,” John’s saying as he heard the last of the story.
“She told everyone,” Dean’s clenching his hands and glaring in every direction that doesn’t include his father.
“And your brilliant solution, was to drop out!”
“See, I know you wouldn’t understand,” Dean’s slumped up against the bed, fidgeting from the lingering pain he’s still feeling on his butt.
“Dean,” John’s going to need dental care for how much his kids make him grind and grit through his teeth. He’s actually kind of surprised that he hadn’t cracked a few by now. “Things like that, they buzz over after a while. But you dropping out, makes things that much worse. She got upset, and didn’t want to look like the fool, so she takes it out on you instead.”
“I know why she did it,” Dean glared. “Look, I don’t know how kids acted back when you were my age, but this kind of thing lingers, believe me.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to drop out of high school, Dean!”
“I’m not going to stick around to get verbally abused either!”
John opened his mouth to continue this discussion, but it was pointless. They would likely be moving in a few days, and Dean would go to another high school (because he was going) and no one would ever know about the Lesley Spooner incident.
Now, he could move onto more pressing matters.
“Fine, whatever, we’re going to be here for three more days. Probably less. We can get you back on track at the next school. Don’t! Do not interrupt me. Yes, you are going to school, I don’t care how old you are, or how old you think you are, you are not dropping out and you are going to graduate high school if I have to drag your ass to whatever school we’re at every damn day!
“You know how I feel about fighting, Dean. This was obviously an ambush, and it doesn’t look like you got the better hand on this. Had you just stayed home like you were supposed to, we could have avoided a lot of this trouble.” John didn’t want to vocalize that if Dean hadn’t gotten his ass handed to him by those bastard jocks, he might still not be talking to his son. He didn’t need to focus on that. “Stand up.”
Dean groaned, but he stood up all the same. Thank goodness, thought John, at least the kid was done fighting him about every little thing.
Dean’s hands went to undo his jeans, loosening the belt that held it together, not that the kid really needed it. He was already more lean muscle than most kids his age saw in their whole lives. If anything, the boy was growing out of those pants.
“Shirt too,” he said.
The look Dean gave him then was one of slight fear. Good, the kid had put him through enough in the last month that a little misplaced fear wasn’t bad.
John waited until Dean stood in just his boxers, shirt and pants tossed onto the bed, before standing and moving to his dresser. Once there, he grabbed on old shirt of his and the dreaded, hated, and cursed paddle. It wasn’t often that John used the thing, he figured he was plenty strong to get him boys more than sorry for their actions, but sometimes if the situation called for it (or he had to dish out more than one spanking), then the handy device made its appearance.
As it was, Dean’s eyes went wide at its reappearance. Kid hadn’t driven him to actually paddle him in almost a year. Well, so ended the streak.
John tossed both onto the bed, he approached Dean, taking his arm in hand once again. However, instead of tugging him onto his lap, John simply moved the arm away, giving him a clearer view of his son’s side. It was bruised, already turning dark, and it was probably plenty painful.
“Anything broken?” he asked, even as he lightly brushed his fingers against the skin.
Dean hissed at the touch, but then again, Dean was always a bit more sensitive on his bruises.
“No sir, just bruised.”
That was John’s conclusion too. He took Dean’s arm again, this time turning him slightly to get a full look at him. His legs looked fine, a few scratches by the knee where the jeans had torn. A bit bruised on the other, probably from falling to the ground. His arms were fine, probably protected from the layers his kids always wore. Looking down at his feet, they were fine too. And they better damn well be, those boots were one thing John knew was worth shelling some actual money for. If they couldn’t protect him from some ambush with some stupid high school jocks pissed about Dean ‘getting with their maybe girlfriend’ then what the hell good would they be.
“Concussion?” He moved in, looking into his kids eyes. No dazey-hazey look there.
“No sir,” Dean replied, and looked away.
John nodded, dropping Dean’s arm.
“How bad a bruising?” John pointed to Dean’s ribs.
Dean frowned and looked down. He hadn’t thought too much about his own pain. In fact, from the moment he spotted the truck by the rental, he stopped thinking about the pain he had and started thinking about the pain that might be coming his way. Now though, well, it was mostly a tolerable throb. He’d gotten kicked a few times in the chest and elbowed while the other boys held him back. Bastard.
“I can handle it,” Dean blushed thinking about, well what was about to happen.
He almost wished his dad went back to not talking to him.
John frowned, but nodded. If the kid was lying, it would only hurt himself. Besides, he’d give him a few pain relievers afterwards. There wouldn’t be any point in giving them now.
“Alright then,” John moved to sit down on the bed, beside Dean’s sort of folded - in that teenage boy, rolled into a ball kind of way - and looked expectantly back at his son.
Dean closed his eyes, but he stepped forward until John once again had a hold on his arm and could slowly lower him over his lap. Mostly, John tried to position Dean so that he wouldn’t hurt him more than he was intending to.
John waited a second, watching to see if Dean showed any signs of distress. When it was apparent that Dean was as comfortable as he could be, mostly lying on the bed, except for his butt, which of course wasn’t supposed to be comfortable at the moment.
Dean’s hand gripped at the blankets once again. He took a deep breath and tried to imagine himself anywhere else. He hated this! Hated everything about what was about to happen.
Might be why it was so effective.
Well, mostly effective. It was pretty rare for him to repeat his stupidity.
Of course, all thoughts of deep breathing and happy places flew out the window as his boxers left his person exposed and met themselves on the ground.
“Dad,” he wiggled and whined. This was so not cool. The guy was ignoring him for weeks, and now to just get him all - like that - for a - you know.
“Keep still,” John said, gripping Dean tightly around the waist. The last thing he needed was for Dean to flop over and hurt himself even more than he already was.
“Come on,” Dean sighed, trying to keep the wiggling down. Failing miserably. “You don’t have to-
John raised his hand and dropped it quickly and with more force than might have been strictly needed.
And any little momentum of thought left Dean the second his butt erupted in pain.
“Jees!”He bit his lip to keep from cursing. So not the position to curse in, especially in the mood he’d put his father in.
“Think twice before you talk, son,” John warned him, raising his hand a second time.
John wasn’t in the mood to be lenient. As he started dishing out swat after swat, he was trying to convey that to the fullest. His son being rebellious might not have been as a big of a thing as John had mentally made it out to be. He should have gotten over it weeks ago.
But, leave it to Dean to make matters worse.
Only his son would think that the way to get his dad’s approval or consent, John wasn’t sure exactly which his son was seeking with his actions, would be to make him even madder.
Breaking curfew, while not deadly, caused John grief. He set curfews not just so that he could be sure that his sons weren’t out making nuisances of themselves, but because he knew that there were things out there, things people wouldn’t believe him about if he tried, that would more than gladly take his sons from him. That alone would have landed any one of the boys over his lap.
“Dad! Please,” Dean cried out, burying his head into the presumed safety of his arms.
He really should have taken the few minutes to get his kid straightened out before the last Hunt. Not that he was going to tell Nick he was right or anything.
John wrapped his arm tighter around Dean’s waist. “Settle down, before you hurt your ribs,” he chastised, dropping another powerful smack to the teen’s rosy bottom.
Dean grit his teeth at the words. His ribs? He couldn’t care less about his ribs at the moment. His ribs were the last thing on his mind! His ass, however, was sending smoke signals, begging for assistance and relief.
Dean only wished he could oblige.
It was bad. Dean could almost judge how bad a spanking would be just from how John started it. And it was bad.
Also, how sad is it that this happened enough to him, that he could judge something like that? He might have to seriously have to start rethinking some life choices.
John positioned himself so that he could aim a few smacks lower down against the under curve of Dean’s bottom. He didn’t wish to tilt him any which way, fearing that the move would cause more damage to the ribs. Likewise, as the skin presented turned rosy and then started climbing towards crimson and auburn, John started to maybe feel a bit lenient.
From the sound of Dean’s reaction, he certainly couldn’t tell the difference.
“Okay! Owww! Dad, please! I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!”
Dean tried to regain composure. He tried to not sound like a bubbling six year old and he tried to convey himself as repent and remorseful. With the way John kept spanking, he figured he wasn’t getting that point across.
“Daaaddd!” He was certain the man’s hand had been replaced, maybe even rebuilt, within the past months. With three boys, his dad certainly would need the sub.
“You do not break curfew just to piss me off, Dean Michael,” John responded, stopping his hand enough that he wanted to make certain Dean heard him. “If I expect you home, you damn well better be home!”
He started spanking again, maintaining to a position for two smacks before blazing into another one.
“Okay! Okay, I know that!” Dean mumbled, wiping his eyes (uselessly, since they instantly refilled with tears) on the sheets below him. “Curfews aren’t meant to be broken!”
John shook his head at his son, but he continued spanking. Dean might be saying it to stop his punishment, but John was completely serious about it. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about, especially where the boys were concerned, to have the added worry.
“No! They are not!” Having covered every part of Dean’s bottom, John stilled his hand for a moment. “And neither are groundings, are they?”
Dean shook his head, leaning his forehead against his arms. “No sir!”
“Does it matter who dishes out the punishment?”
Dean groaned slightly, or he sobbed slightly, neither could really tell.
“No,” he muttered into his arms. “No s-sir,” Dean stammered out. “Don’t m-matter who doles it ou-out.”
“That’s right, it doesn’t matter, you’re still expected to respect it.”
John concentrated this part of the spanking more on Dean’s thighs. Dean’s butt was already bright and radiating its own heat wave. Not that Dean’s cries got any lower from the attention to the new area.
“I trust you to follow the rules, Dean,” John said, landing his tenth swat to the pinkened thighs. “Not just when I’m home to see you do it. Always.”
Dean nodded. His breathing hitched uncontrollably and tears flowing freely.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, though it was getting harder to talk.
John picked up the paddle than. It felt heavier in his hand, as it always did when he was ready to actually use the thing. It felt like it could do some serious damage, and he almost convinced himself to place it down.
“This last bit,” John turned to stare at the back of his son’s head. Dean’s shoulders tensed, already knowing what was coming. At his son’s resolve, John knew he had to go through with this, just like he had had to every time before now and every time he would have to in the future. “This is for ever doubting me, Dean. For ever thinking that I could look at you as anything but my son. But mostly, this is for trying to test me.
“You don’t have to go to such lengths to get my attention, Deano. But when you do, just remember it’s not always going to be the kind of attention you want.” John brought the paddle up, and began a steady spanking again.
The spanking continued for a bit longer, but Dean never noticed when his father stopped. He was too busy feeling extremely sorry for himself, and more so for having tested his father so far It was twelve cracks with the paddle in all, but all Dean could say for certain was that they were more than three and closer to a herd of killer bees..
He should know better by now, he kept telling himself. He should know better, but he never seemed to.
When he stopped crying enough to gather his breathing, John helped pull his boxers back up. Dean could have done without the cloth on his burning bottom for eternity, for sure. Since when did they make those things out of sandpaper anyway?
John helped Dean to stand, instantly taking Dean in his arms. Dean wasn’t too shy about returning the gesture. He had missed it for too long to care about his manner of distress, undress, and general embarrassment.
“I love you too much, Dean,” John said, wrapping his arms around his too young son. The kid had no idea how much he meant to him. John didn’t even realize how much the boys meant to him until he was faced with moments like these. And then, the realization often times hurt. “So damn much, kid.”
“I know,” Dean said, burying his tears and face into John’s shirt. “M’ sorry.”
John reached up and rubbed at Dean’s hair slightly.
“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner.” He leaned down slightly and kissed at the sandy blond locks. He could only get away with that in moments like these. Least he somehow made his son uncool by his mere presence. “I promise you, I won’t let that happen again.”
“ S’okay,” Dean leaned away from him enough to share a look with his father. “You can just ground yourself, or have Bobby beat your ass, and we’ll call it even.”
“Oh yeah?” John frowned, reaching up to smack Dean lightly on the head. “How about not?” He racked his fingers through Dean’s hair a bit rougher, ending by tangling his fingers at the base of his neck and hugging Dean to him once again. “My little smartass.”
~~~~
Nick looked up as Dean made his slow exit from John’s room. He was sniffing and wiping at his very red eyes. He was walking slowly, dressed in his boxers, socks, and one of Dad’s shirts, and Nick felt a tiny bit of sorry for him.
Just a little though.
Sam was on Nick’s lap, ears covered with ear phones and plugged into a Walkman. He was completely unaware of Dean’s reappearance.
Dean stopped a few steps from the back of the couch where his brothers were. He glanced at everything but in Nick’s direction, feeling completely uncomfortable.
“Just felt like gracing me with your presence?” Nick asked after a moment of silence passed.
Dean sighed and rolled his eyes.
“No,” he replied instead. “I just, look I wasn’t trying to say that I didn’t listen to you or whatever. I mean, I didn’t break the grounding because of you. It wasn’t about that.” Dean wiped at his eyes again, blinking back a few more of the stubborn strays.
“I knew that,” Nick sat up slightly. “I told Dad as much. You were pissed, at him at yourself - I don’t know. It was a stupid thing to do,” he fixed his brother with a stern look. “And damn disrespectful too. Not to mention stupid, since you clearly got your ass handed to you now twice.”
“Yeah,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Thanks Nicky.”
“What I mean, smartass,” Nick snapped his fingers to get Dean back into the seriousness of the conversation. “Is that it’s not worth it. Not being mad at Dad, a girl, stupid kids in your school. Whatever, it’s not worth making your family fear for your safety. You wouldn’t like any one of us doing that to you, would you?”
“No,” Dean looked down at his feet. John Winchester did more than enough to make his son feel sorry, but Nick certainly knew how to add to it. “That would suck.”
“That would suck big time. Breaking curfew and then taking off like that? You don’t have to start acting stupid just because you’re no longer in school, Dean.”
Dean looked up slightly to glare at Nick, but he let it go. His actions were pretty stupid as of late.
“You’re right,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’m sorry.”
Nick frowned and smiled slightly.
“What was that?”
“I’m sorry, Nick.”
“No,” Nick shook his head. “That other thing.”
Dean huffed out and glared at his brother. Older or not, sometimes the guy was just a prick.
“Nothing,” Dean turned around. “I didn’t say anything!”
“No, I think I heard something,” Nick said to his back. “I think I heard that I was right? Did you admit I was right? I mean, I know I’m always right -
“I didn’t say anything!” Dean repeated himself, moving to the pizza boxes that his brothers had clearly already been ravish through.
“- but if you insist on saying it, I’m not stopping you.”
Nick looked up to smile at Dean’s back. he could see Dean taking three pieces onto his paper plate. It just accord to him, Dean really hadn’t been eating a lot lately. He was glad to see things going back to normal.
Tugging Sam’s headphones off, the eleven year old finally looked up from his book.
“Go give your brother a hug,” he instructed, pushing slightly to get Sam off of his lap.
Sam looked up, instantly spotted Dean, and leaped up, quickly having Dean within his arms, murmuring to him. Dean hugged him back just as tight.
END.