Prompt: # 14 - Guns
Type of Story: General
Author's Website: None
Author's Note: Set during season one.
Life is Good
Dean yelled a warning to his brother as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Sam's voice broke off of the Latin he was murmuring to gaze in disbelief at the wolf bearing down on him.
"I hate nature," Dean grumbled, dropping the herbs he'd been scattering and lunging for the weapons bag. Grabbing the rifle they'd loaded with regular bullets just for cases like these, he aimed and shot, in one smooth motion.
And froze as the gun jammed.
Sam turned to look at him incredulously, a millisecond before the wolf was on him.
"Life sucks," Dean growled, grabbing the rifle with loaded with rock salt, and hoping like hell it would hold off the animal gunning for his brother.
* * *
Eight years earlier
Dean whistled lightly through his teeth and he methodically cleaned the Glock in front of him. Sighting down the bore for a second, he then returned to cleaning.
Life was good. He'd turned 18 a month ago, and his Dad had given him the Impala. Only four months left of school and he'd be free to hunt full time. In the meantime, there were girls to chase, supernatural baddies to kill and a really cool car to drive. Not much could improve on that.
He contemplated the gun again, sighting down the barrel once again, then grabbed a cleaning rag to smooth out the bore. His thoughts turned to that evening. It was Friday, and he didn't have to worry about school for another two full days. They'd be hunting tonight, late. Probably about 1 or 2 am, actually. In the meantime, he'd finish cleaning the gun, then get some sleep. Tomorrow, well tomorrow he had plans.
Dean grinned to himself. The waitress at the diner up the street. She was so much more interesting than the high school girls. He'd given up on them. They were flighty, and giggly, and altogether uninteresting. Except to look at. They were easy on the eyes, he had to admit.
But Kelly, the waitress, now she was hot. About 26, and experienced. Dean grinned, thinking of the last weekend. And she thought his wheels were sexy. That wasn't all she thought was hot. That was pretty clear after last Saturday.
Happily planning his time with Kelly, Dean was surprised when the door to the motel room burst open. Looking up in surprise, he saw his father looking thunderous, holding tightly to his thirteen year old brother's arm.
"Dad? Sammy? What . . .?" He blurted, startled.
Sam looked angry, tear stains on his cheeks, and clearly near tears again, all at the same time. Dean sighed to himself. The kid who had always been so agreeable, had up and given the term 'terrible teens' a whole new meaning when he turned thirteen. He and Dad seemed to be butting heads every time they turned around.
"Not your concern, Dean," John bit off hard.
Dean winced again. Oh. That meant bad news. If John wasn't involving Dean, it basically meant that Sam had really given their Dad lip, probably disobeyed a direct order, and most likely wasn't where he was supposed to be when John went to pick him up.
Sam glared at his father, not saying a word as he sullenly tried to tug free.
Dean snorted. Sam just couldn't keep from fanning the flames. He'd be better off apologizing and saying 'yes sir' right about now.
"How close are the guns to being done Dean?" John snapped.
"Almost done, Sir," Dean said, rising to his feet and quickly snapping the pieces together.
"Finish up then, and get lost. Sammy and I have some things to discuss."
"Yes, Sir," Dean said smartly, and hurried through the final stages as fast as he could. Having his father glowering at him while he stayed attached to Sam wasn't the most fun thing in the world. Nor was Sam, who knew exactly what was going to happen to him and STILL sullenly trying to tug free, the most calming of sights.
After five uncomfortable minutes of gun cleaning at record speeds, Dean was finished and wiping his hands.
"We'll leave for the hunt at 2am. I don't care what you do, just be rested. And give us an hour or two here before you return," John said, pointedly looking at his younger son.
Sam gulped hard at that, suddenly understanding that he was in deep trouble. He looked at Dean for rescue.
Dean just shrugged. Sorry kid, but you brought this on yourself whatever you did. Leaving Sam to his fate, Dean just grabbed his keys and headed for the door. He knew he'd get the whole story from his father when the older man had calmed down. Probably over a drink. John would probably need it. Dean knew that Sam was making his father crazy as well as scaring him to death.
Thankful he was treated like an equal these days, and not a child, Dean let himself out of the motel room, grateful to be free of the scene to follow. He'd do his part and comfort the kid tomorrow. John would make sure he had free time with Sam to do just that. The hunt would do to clear the air as well.
It didn't take much more than a moment before Dean was heading towards the diner. At Kelly's incandescent smile when he appeared in the doorway, Dean knew he'd made the right choice.
* * *
Having managed to kill several hours in a very satisfying manner, Dean strolled back to the motel about an hour before they were all to leave for the hunt. Whistling to himself absently, he enjoyed the crisp late February air. It was clear and cold. Perfect night for ghost-busting. And a haunted house, no less. Life was good.
He quietly let himself into the motel room.
His father was working silently at the table. He looked up, studied his son for a quick moment, and gave a half smile. "Rested?"
Dean chose to believe it was a real question, to be taken at face value only, with no hidden meanings "Yes sir!"
"Good. Get your brother up, we leave in 5." With that, he got up and headed out to the truck to stow the weapons.
Dean nodded at his departing father. John had far more sensitivity than Sam ever gave him credit for. Sammy would be all the better for a couple of minutes with Dean and to get his bearings. He finally went into the small second room and looked over towards the far bed. Sam was indistinguishable - just a blanket covered lump, facing the wall. Par for the course when Sam got his ass paddled.
Sitting down lightly, Dean shook his brother gently awake. "Sammy, time to go. Come on, wake up or I'll stick your hand in warm water."
"Jerk," came the petulant reply around a yawn.
The lump moved, and straightened out as Sam sat up. Then bounced out of bed with a whimper of pain.
"Bad, huh?" Dean said quietly.
Sam just glared at him, clearly trying not to give into the temptation to rub his boxer clad backside.
Dean held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, don't take it out on me. I don't even know what you did. I'm just the wake-up call."
"Asshole," Sam muttered sulkily.
Dean quickly climbed to his feet and grabbed his little brother's upper arm. "Look here Sam, I don't have to take that from you. I get your pissed. Fine. But don't. Take. It. Out. On. Me. Get it? That is unless you want your bottom to be more sore than it already is."
Sam sullenly tried to tug free. "Your not Dad," he challenged.
"No, but I am an adult, and Dad has given me permission to keep you in line," Dean said grimly. One of the perks (or not so great responsibilities) of being 18.
"I hate you!" Sam yelled, almost in tears.
Dean sighed, and gave Sam a hard wallop on his sensitive backside. "Hate me all you want, but straighten up."
Sam burst into angry tears, a combination of pain, outrage, and teenage self-righteousness. The tears in themselves were more telling to Dean than anything else as to exactly how badly his little brother and their father had gotten into it the night before. At thirteen, Sam was doing his best not to cry - ever. At least not in front of John and Dean.
The tears also told Dean just how wound up Sam still was. John had probably broken out the paddle from the looks of things. He tended to use that for only the most serious infractions. 'Just what the hell did the kid do?!'
"You have 5 minutes to get ready, and then you'd better be all business. You can sulk all you want tomorrow, all right? But tonight, get on your game." He shook Sam slightly. "Got it?"
Sam sniffed and looked at Dean with narrowed eyes, considering.
"Sam . . " Dean said in warning.
"All right," came the sulky reply.
Dean breathed deep in relief. "Go."
Sam stalked towards the bathroom, martyred teenager all the way.
Dean headed out to join his father.
John was leaning on the truck hood, arms tucked into his side, trying to stay warm. Dean turned up his jacket collar and shoved his hands in his pockets as he moved to join his father.
"Still pissy. Had to swat him."
John looked tired. "Great," he sighed.
Dean just shrugged. "He'll get over it, once he wakes up."
"I hate having to punish him like this," John groaned. "But he doesn't leave me much choice. What happened to my little boy who thought the sun rose and set on me?" John mourned, more serious than joking.
"Wha'd he do this time?" Dean asked, grinning. If only Sammy knew his father's dilemma.
"Smoking. Caught him around the back side of the school when I went looking. Had me scared spitless when he wasn't out front waiting."
Dean whistled in shock. "Wow. I'm surprised you didn't spank him all the way home."
"I swatted him all the way to the car just as a warm up," John said grimly.
No wonder Sam was so pissy. If he'd been swatted in front of his friends, then got the full treatment when he'd gotten home, he was not going to be happy. But, smoking. He sure had it coming. Dean shook his head.
"Then I used the paddle once we got home," John added.
Dean winced. John saved the paddle for only the worst offenses. Sam would be feeling it for a long time.
"I just hope I don't have to give him another attitude adjustment today," John added darkly. "But mark my words, I'll be paddling a butt again today, if I don't miss my guess."
"No doubt," Dean added, just as grim, wishing he'd smacked his brother harder.
"Think he'll be okay to hunt?" John asked his eldest son. He'd been considering leaving Sammy at home, but he really didn't want to do that. Sam's behavior was just too unpredictable right now.
"Yes sir," Dean said smartly. "You know he's always all business in the field even when he's been a complete Jackass at home," he pointed out.
John felt better when Dean pointed this out. He was right. "Your right. I can count on him. On the hunt, at least," he said grimly.
"It'll help make him feel more adult," Dean pointed out.
"Good point. Maybe then I can talk to him about the evils of smoking again to his face and not his ass," John grumbled.
Dean grinned. They'd both be glad when Sammy finally grew up.
* * *
The drive to the woods was somewhat strained. Sam was trying to take the high road, acting like the wounded. The picture was somewhat marred, however, but his intermittent squirming, as he was unable to find a place to sit comfortably.
In front, Dean and John worked hard to keep a normal conversation going, focusing on the hunt.
As soon as they had reached the spot as close as they could get by car to the entity they were hunting, John parked the Impala and broke out the weapons. Assigning weapons and patterns to work, all three settled down into working mode, including Sam.
As neither John nor Dean treated him any differently than usual, Sam finally began to relax, thinking maybe that it was over, and he wasn't completely in bad graces anymore.
He knew it when he pointed out the first sign of their quarry, to the left of an abandoned shed set back from the road.
"Good job, Sam. You've really been working on your tracking skills," John commented, impressed with his son's skill.
Sam beamed at the compliment and was rewarded with his older brother tousling his hair. "Guess all that reading hasn't completely destroyed your eyesight," Dean teased.
"Jerk," Sam retorted without heat.
"Bitch," came the expected reply.
All fell silent and went back to concentrating on the job at hand.
Tracking the thing deep into the woods took time and concentration. Since they didn't know exactly what it was, only that it was supernatural in origin, that it had been killing people, and that it seemed to be seen in the vicinity of a clearing that was known to be the local spot for kids to have seances, that left a lot of ground to cover.
The night was dark and clear, still there was only a slight amount of light was available from the sliver of a moon. John motioned his sons to spread out wider in the search pattern, while still staying in close proximity.
They'd done all the possible research. Sam had talked to his classmates and found out what the kids considered a seance. From there John had done his best to figure out what had been called. It was tenuous at best, but as always, they'd found out anything they could. There just wasn't much to find out!
What they didn't know was how fast the thing could move. From the moment they all heard the rustling of underbrush to the second it was on top of Sam was a lightning blink of an eye. In that moment, Sam was obliterated by the dark bulk. Sam himself only saw a quick view of shifting shadow, claws, teeth, red eyes and dripping saliva.
Dean had his gun up in a smooth motion and was firing, aiming to the side of where Sam had been and sent the silver bullet into the bulk of the blackness. Only the bullet didn't leave the gun. A faint click, instead of the normal crack and hard recoil was all he was rewarded with. His eyes huge, he pulled the trigger again and again, with no result.
"Shit! Dean, drop!" John's voice cracked through the night and Dean obeyed, a split second before a shotgun blast echoed above him. He could feel the whistle of air above him, and half a second later heard an inhuman screech.
Dean pulled himself to his feet, mouth dry, as he registered his father blowing past him. He looked around desperately, but the thing was gone, as quickly as it had appeared. All the was left was John, white-faced, bending over his little brother.
"Easy Sammy, let me look," John was murmuring as Dean closed the gap between them.
"Is he okay?" Dean demanded quickly.
Sam looked up at Dean's voice, his eyes big in his pale face.
"He'll be okay," John said, paying only half attention to his older son, as he triaged the younger. "Hang on Sammy, let me get this out of the way." John eased the tattered remains of Sam's jacket and shirt away from his bloody shoulder.
Sam's whimper made Dean's head swim as he looked at the blood. "Dad, I'm sorry," Dean stuttered uncharacteristically. "My gun jammed . . ." he started, but an unreadable piercing look from his father stopped him in his tracks.
"But . . ."
"I said later," John snapped as he the remains of Sam's shirt to the wound, slowing the bleeding.
Dean winced. "Yes Sir," he answered quietly.
"Dean?" Sam looked up at his older brother in unspoken need.
Dean gave himself a quick shake and moved to Sam's other side, pasting a grin on his face. "Hey Sammy. You'll do anything to get attention and sympathy, won't ya?"
Sam choked back a laugh, which turned into a soft moan as John pressed the shirt harder against the shoulder.
"Easy Tiger," Dean muttered, resting a warm hand on Sam's good shoulder. "Dad?" He put a wealth of question in the one word.
John sighed deeply, then smiled. "He'll be fine. Just gouged his shoulder pretty good. Lot's of blood, but not overly deep. We need to get back and clean it out with holy water, but there shouldn't be any complications. Ready to get out of here, champ?" John directly the last to his youngest son with a warm smile.
Sam seemed to strengthen palpably at his father's words and demeanor. He gamely answered a firm "Yes Sir".
Dean opened his mouth to bring up his jammed gun again, but was quelled with a lighting look from John. Snapping his jaw shut, he moved to Sam's other side and assisted his shaky brother to his feet.
All through the trip back through the forest, getting Sam settled in the car, the ride back and the more thorough treatment back at the motel apartment, all Dean could think of was the jamming gun. He was nearly sick to his stomach as he remember the impotent 'click' instead of the thundering, productive 'boom' and kick he was used to. And then the shadow thing blocking Sam from his sight.
Dean finished reorganizing the first aid kit for the third time as he watched John settle Sam and get some more painkillers into him. Heavy duty drugs this time.
Sam bit back a moan and shifted uncomfortably as John pulled the covers up over him, tucking them around his injured shoulder. "What's the matter Sammy? Meds aren't working yet?" John asked in concern.
"Uh-uh," Sam muttered sleepily, flushing slightly.
"Then what is it?" John asked, confused.
Sam muttered something unintelligible.
"What?" John said, confused.
Sam flushed a deeper red and squirmed. "My rear still hurts," he whispered, this time audibly, although barely.
Dean grinned as John bit back a laugh. "Okay son, how about we settle you on your side. Would that b better?"
"Uh-huh," Sam agreed.
John had Sam readjusted in no time, and sat next to him watching carefully as the medication took hold and he slid off to sleep. He sat with him awhile longer, then sighed deeply and stood and stretched. Then he finally turned to his older son who was busily rearranging the first aid kit for the fourth time.
"Okay Dean. Other room."
"Huh?" Dean said, trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach.
Without another word, Dean did as ordered and sat in the armchair as indicated.
For his part, John remained standing. Arms folded, he just looked at his older son. "Well?"
Dean stalled. He felt guilty enough. He didn't need salt rubbed into it. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean it, but the gun jammed." He looked up at his father in desperation. "My gun never jams!"
"So what was different about tonight?"
Dean looked puzzled. "Nothing."
"Well, apparently there was something. You're right. Your gun doesn't ever jam. So what changed?"
Dean racked his brain. "Um, having to hurry?" The sight of John holding a angry Sam flashed through his mind.
"That's part of it. What else?"
Running wildly through gun cleaning from earlier, he was chagrined to realize exactly what the problem was. "I wasn't thinking about what I was doing," he admitted softly.
John snorted. "I'll say. Was it the waitress?"
Dean winced, but grinned. "Oh yeah. She's so hot . . ."
Dean broke off as John raised his hand indicating for him to stop.
"So was she more important than your brother's life? Or my life for that matter?"
Dean flinched violently at the words. "No sir!" He emphasized loudly. "Never! I'd never risk that!"
"But you did," John pointed out. "Son, your brain has not been on business lately. Not at all. Your eighteen, and a great hunter. But this was a stupid mistake. Last in a long line of stupid mistakes over the last couple of months. You've forgotten salt lines, been two hour late to pick up your brother or me, forgot to refill the holy water. I can go on, do I need to?"
"No sir," Dean said glumly. It sounded bad - put like that. He was going to be lucky if he got to drive his car again, or see Kelly again anytime before he was 21 the rate his father was heading.
"I think we need to deal with this now," John commented as he sat down on the couch and began rolling up his sleeves. "Get over here."
It took Dean a moment to wrap his mind around what his father had just said. "You . . . you aren't . . . You can't . . .!" Dean sputtered in shock at the clear indicators that he was about to get his ass paddled. This couldn't happen. Dean was an adult now!
"Oh, I can, and believe me, I will."
"Dad! I'm 18! I'm an adult! You can't spank me like a little kid. You haven't spanked me in, well, years!" He finished in outraged disbelief.
John just looked at his son calmly. "Last I saw you were still my son. Maybe I've treated you too much like an adult lately. Fact is, as I've said, you've been far too careless about a lot of things lately. I see I've let slide a few too many things and let you play around with the joys of adulthood a little to long. So, we'll just call this a cumulative punishment and cover it all."
"But a 'spanking'!?! Jeez Dad, you have me spank Sammy!" To Dean it made perfect sense.
John hid a grin as he appeared to think a moment on Dean's words. "Yes, I've been having you discipline your brother. But that doesn't mean you are beyond getting disciplined yourself when you deserve it. And if it's been that long since you've gotten your bottom warmed, then your behavior makes more sense. I'd say you're way overdue. As a matter of fact, I think we'll do this with the paddle."
"But Dad!" Dean's voice was loud with incredulity, hiding a wince. Shit. By arguing, he'd managed to made it worse.
John cut the protest short. "Don't think I haven't been watching you shirk your responsibilities in training and studying to visit that waitress of yours. You aren't out of High School yet, young man. And it wouldn't really matter anyway. Your still my son, and trust me, you'll never be too old."
As John crooked at finger at his son, indicating 'now', Dean stuttered, "But what about Sam? Won't this undermine my authority?" He was grasping at straws and he knew it, but he just couldn't get his mind wrapped around the fact that his father was about to spank him!
John turned and raised his eyebrows at his panicked eldest. "Why? He'll never know about it from me. Are you going to tell him?"
"No! But . . . he might wake up. He's right in the next room!"
John sighed. "Dean, Sam isn't going to wake up. He's drugged to the gills. He's had a tough 24 hours - he's gotten his ass blistered and now his shoulder mauled. He's been upset and angry. And, he only got 5 hours of sleep last night. I didn't put him to bed until after 9 by the time he'd finished sitting at the table in a hard chair doing research for me."
Dean winced at that, then caught himself. Why was he sympathetic. He was about to get the same!
"Your brother is exhausted and going to sleep like the dead for the next 18 hours. I wouldn't worry about him. I think you need to worry about yourself and the consequences of your actions," John finished grimly. "You've stalled long enough. Now get the paddle."
Dean repressed a shudder as he slowly got to his feet and retrieved the paddle from his father's duffel bag. It had been a very long time since Dean had last made it's acquaintance, and he could have waited a lot longer. Like never. The innocent piece of wood tended to imprint it's memory for quite awhile.
"You aren't planning to do this over the knee are you, Dad?" Dean said with a pained try at his normal smirk as he handed the hated object over to his father. "I mean, that's just wrong! I'm way to big." Dean was happy with how his nonchalance came across.
"Really," John said as he accepted the paddle, giving Dean a moment of hope. His dignity would be a lot less offended if he were, say, bent over the back of the couch.
"Well, that's just too bad Dean-o. We'll do this the tried and true method."
Dean tried to look on the bright side. Well, it couldn't get much worse than this. But his heart sank as John set the paddle down next to him and looked expectantly at his son. "And Dean? Drop the jeans and underwear."
Dean gulped. 'Shit'. Sometimes life just really, really sucked.
* * *
"What the hell happened?" Sam gasped, as Dean pressed his plaid shirt hard into his sibling's shoulder.
"A wolf clawed you," Dean dryly stated the obvious.
"Jerk," Sam muttered with a wince. "No, I mean with the gun."
Dean played stupid. "What gun?"
Sam rolled his eyes, then groaned. "The gun with the real bullets, jackass. I mean, you don't normally stun something like that with rock salt, then beat it's brains out with the rifle stock." He nodded at the bludgeoned beast in front of him. Sometimes real beasties were worse than supernatural.
Sighing, Dean admitted shortly, "Jammed."
"Uh-huh. Well, at least this time you won't keep me up tonight with all the noise."
"What?" Dean looked up surprised, thinking with a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what his brother was talking about.
Sam smirked at him, taking hold of the shirt as the blood began to clot, freeing up Dean's hands for the rest of the clean up. "I mean the last time you screwed up with guns. The time Dad paddled your ass until you pretended for a whole week that you LIKED to stand up instead of sitting down."
Dean looked at his brother, shocked. "How . . . Dad said he wouldn't tell . . . I damned sure didn't . . ."
Sam laughed outright, then winced. "I was winged. Not dead. And it wasn't like my ass wasn't still on fire, either. Besides you made enough noise to raise the dead."
"You were drugged. Out cold!" Dean snapped, chagrined, a flush rising up his face.
"Jeez Dean. I wasn't that out of it. And you and Dad were right next door. Like I couldn't make out the sound of Dad's lecture, a paddle on a bare butt, and your yelling? Especially after being on the receiving end the night before? It was pretty obvious what was going on."
Dean rocked back on his heels. "Well, shit." Trying hard to recover his aplomb, he tried to fall back on his usual cheek. "Well, it wasn't like you weren't over his knee about every other damn day at that time. Or mine," he added after a moment, just to reestablish his position of authority.
"I was thirteen, not eighteen," Sam short back, smirking. "You were supposed to be one of the adults back then."
"Tell me about it," Dean muttered, as mortified now as he was at the time. Just the thought of being over his father's knee at 18, made his face flush a deep red.
"Look at it this way, genius, at least Dad isn't here," Sam pointed out with a laugh at his brother's red face.
Dean carefully helped his brother to his feet. "Thank god for small favors," he commented with heartfelt feeling. He had to admit, it was one of the few times he didn't miss his AWOL father. Hopefully Dad never heard about this little incident. AND he was sincerely grateful that Sammy didn't even consider taking their father's place in discipline matters. He sure wouldn't have had any qualms were the tables reversed.
"Life is good," Sam pointed out knowingly, grinning.
"Yeah, just super," muttered Dean gratefully, hoping John never did find out about this little incident.
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