Author: Kara_Winchester

#35 - Shouting


Type of Story

Author's Website
Kara_Winchester's LJ

Author's Note: Disclaimer – I don't own Supernatural and I'm making no money from this fic.


John Winchester gripped the steering wheel of the Impala, his eyes darkening with fury as he drove. Beside him in the front seat, Dean was slouching down, looking uncharacteristically defiant and angry, which only added to his rage. A glance to the backseat told him that Sam looked extremely nervous. Of course, the one who hasn't done anything is panicking, John thought wryly. And of course, the one who is in serious trouble is acting belligerent.

As the Impala stopped in the driveway of their small rental house, John opened the door without a word and went to the passenger side. He grabbed his oldest by the collar of his threadbare jacket, shocked that the kid didn't look the least bit nervous. Dean had just recently turned twelve, and John wasn't stupid enough to believe that he wouldn't experience some rebellion as he got older. Still, the devil-may-care expression his son was wearing right now practically made his blood boil, and he tightened his grip, pulling the boy in closer to his side before opening the back door for Sam. The seven-year-old looked at him with wide eyes, and John placed a reassuring hand on his back, helping him out of the car and leading both of his sons into the house.

Once the door was shut behind them, John turned to his youngest. "Sammy," he said quietly, trying not to frighten the smaller boy. "I want you to go into the living room and watch TV. Your brother and I need to have a chat," he added ominously, his hand still gripping Dean's collar. Sammy barely took the time to nod before running into the living room, leaving John to deal with his twelve-year-old delinquent.

He dragged Dean into the small study where he did his research and sat him down firmly on a hard wooden chair. He glared at the boy for a long time, again stunned when Dean didn't even flinch, but had the audacity to glare back.

"You want to tell me what in the hell has gotten into you?" John asked sternly.

Dean shrugged his shoulders disrespectfully. "Nothing," he spat.

"Nothing?" repeated John, shaking his head. "Nothing prompted you to swear at your teacher when she scolded you for not turning in your math homework? And while we're on the subject, is this the same math homework you swore to me you finished?" he questioned, his voice rising slightly.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Dean bit out stubbornly. "It's not like I need math to hunt, and my teacher is a stupid bitch."

"Hey, you watch your mouth, young man!" John reprimanded. "You know better than to use that kind of language and you know better than to cause trouble at school! We have to keep a low profile, and you…"

Dean jumped to his feet, cutting his father off mid rant. "Maybe I'm sick of keeping a low profile!" he shouted, maneuvering his body so he was chest to chest with John. "I'm sick of other people telling me what to do, especially you! I can take care of myself, and I can do whatever the hell I want!"

John had hoped to have a rational discussion with his son about whatever was bothering him, but Dean's defiance finally got to him, and he snapped. He reached out and yanked Dean out of the chair, turning him around and giving him four scorching swats. He turned him back around and looked into his eyes, hoping to see some sign of repentance, but all he got was a bitter stare.

"I don't know what made you think it was suddenly okay for you to yell in my face, son," John said icily, "but I guarantee that you are going to regret it."

Dean didn't respond, just gave his father a murderous glance before wrenching out of his grasp and running from the room. John followed him quickly. "Hey! Don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you!" he shouted.

Dean whipped around halfway to the staircase. "Just shut up and leave me alone!" he yelled furiously, every inch of his face etched with stubbornness.

John reached out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "You get your ass up to your room right now!" he roared. "You stay there and think about how hard I'm gonna whip your butt for this attitude and how many days it's gonna be before you can sit down again! And I am telling you, boy, one more word out of you and I'm not gonna wait until I calm down, you hear me?!"

"I hate you!" Dean screamed before twisting out of John's grasp and running up the stairs as fast his legs could carry him.

"Yeah, well I'm not exactly thrilled with you at the moment, either, pal!" John yelled, growing even more enraged when Dean slammed his bedroom door. He caught himself on the hand railing, breathing heavily. He couldn't believe how his good little soldier had turned into a raging hormonal adolescent overnight. He had never thought about spanking one of his sons while he was angry, but Dean had just about pushed him to the limit. It was going to be a few hours before he had calmed down enough to deal with him properly.

"Daddy?" a little voice piped up behind him. John turned around and saw Sam standing there, looking up at him with frightened, tear-filled eyes. He sighed, feeling some of his anger evaporate at the sight of his sweet little boy. "Hey Sammy," he said softly, kneeling down to his level. "You okay, buddy?"

Sam looked hesitantly at this father. "You and Dean were was scary," he whispered, a lone tear trickling down his face. John sighed again, scooping his younger son up into his arms and carrying him into the living room. He sat down in the big recliner, snuggling the small boy down into his lap.

"Sammy," he said gently, "your brother's getting older, and he's trying to see if he can get away with disobeying me."

Sam looked at him quizzically. "You always tell me that if I disobey you I'm gonna get a spanking," he said doubtfully.

John nodded solemnly. "That's right, buddy, and the same goes for Dean. But when kids get older, they sometimes think that they don't have to listen to their Daddies anymore. And sometimes, they need to be reminded that they're still kids, and they still have to follow the rules. Do you understand?"

Sam nodded slowly. "I think so…Dean thinks he's grown-up, but you're Daddy, so you're gonna spank him for being naughty?"

John chuckled a bit at Sam's simplistic explanation. "Something like that," he replied. "Now, do you feel better?" he asked kindly, rubbing his hand through Sam's unruly hair.

"I guess so," Sam said uncertainly. "Daddy, I know you're gonna spank Dean, but…are you still gonna yell at him? Cause you're scary when you yell…" he trailed off.

John sighed, feeling guilty for frightening his son. He pulled Sam in close to his chest. "No, baby, I'm not going to yell anymore," he promised, rocking slowly in the recliner. "But Dean might, so you need to be prepared for that, okay?"

"Okay," Sam said softly, still looking worried. John held him in his arms for a few minutes longer before sitting him up on his knee. "What do you say we get you something to eat, Sammy? Then you can watch TV while I go deal with Dean."

"Can I have peanut butter and jelly?" Sam asked excitedly, his earlier fears apparently forgotten.

John laughed. "Sure you can, buddy," he replied, standing up and swinging Sam onto his shoulder, eliciting a giggle from the little boy.

An hour later, a full and content Sammy lay in front of the TV, watching cartoons, while John trudged up the stairs. Although he was calmer than he had been earlier, he was still angry with Dean's behavior, and he wasn't quite sure how he was going to handle the situation. This rebelliousness was completely new territory for him, and he would rather face a pack of werewolves than have to discipline his son.

John arrived outside of the boys' bedroom, steeling his courage for the confrontation. He knocked on the door, his anger returning when Dean responded with a loud "Go away! I don't want to talk to you!"

John felt the fury at his son's insolent tone rise up inside of him, but he managed to calm himself before he opened the door. He walked slowly and deliberately over to Dean's bed, kneeling in front of his son and grasping his shoulders firmly.

"Boy, you raise your voice to me one more time and I swear I will bend you over this bed and tan your hide with my belt," he said in a low but stern voice.

Dean held his father's gaze, but John noticed that some of the bravado in his eyes dimmed at the threat.

John sighed deeply, wondering once again where his obedient little solider had gone before starting in with the lecture.

"I want you to pay very close attention, Dean, because I'm only going to say this once," he said firmly. "You may think that because you're almost a teenager you get to make your own rules. But I am telling you right now, young man, you are never going to disrespect me the way you did today. And if you ever, ever raise your voice to me in a fit of anger again, it will make the butt blistering I'm about to give you seem like a walk in the park."

John waited for a moment to see if there was a change in his son's attitude, but Dean continued to hold his gaze with a fiery glare. He sighed heavily, knowing that there was only one way to get through to the boy. He lifted Dean off the bed and sat down himself, bringing him close to his side. He unsnapped Dean's jeans, ignoring his slight struggles to get away, and tugged them down before turning his son over his knee.

John hesitated a moment before yanking down Dean's briefs as well. Dean still gave no response,
just lay stiffly across his father's lap. John shook his head unbelievingly before raising his hand and bringing it down with a forceful smack on the slim behind before him.

Dean shuddered slightly, but for some reason felt compelled to mouth off, bare bottom or not. "That didn't hurt," he sassed.

John paused momentarily, floored by his son's bold rebellion. "Oh, you just brace yourself, little boy," he said sternly. "You'll be singing a different tune in a few minutes." He began paddling Dean's backside in earnest, determined to claim back his son from whatever adolescent demon had possessed him.

He continued spanking for several minutes, but Dean still showed no sign of emotion, although his rear end was certainly showing the telltale redness of a thorough butt warming.

John rested his hand on Dean's bright red bottom. Dammit, he thought. Why can't the kid just give in?

He considered the situation carefully. He had very rarely spanked the boys with anything but his hand, and his earlier threat of tanning Dean's hide with his belt had been a total bluff. Still, maybe a couple licks of the belt would bring Dean to the point where he accepted the spanking.

Still, Dean was already so red, anything but his hand might cause bruises. In fact, even prolonging the hand spanking right at the moment would cause some bruising, and he certainly didn't want that. John was well known for delivering solid spankings that would make sitting for the boys uncomfortable, but he never wanted to injure them. He quickly came to a decision, and lifted Dean off his lap.

The boy's eyes were bright and angry with tears he refused to shed, and John couldn't believe the level of defiance and stubbornness he still displayed. He stood and placed his hand on Dean's shoulder, steering him to the corner with his flaming red backside still bare.

"Dean," he said firmly. "This attitude is going to stop, kid, one way or the other. Your spanking is far from over, so don't fool yourself into thinking you got off easy. You're going to stand here for an hour, and when I come back, I better see a change in your attitude, or I swear I will give you a whipping with my belt. It's your choice, son."

Dean refused to look at his father, just stared at the wall. John sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day and briefly touched Dean's shoulder.
"You stay in this corner," he said softly, but firmly. "No moving around and no rubbing. One hour, Dean," he finished before heading back downstairs to check on Sammy.

Dean waited until he heard the soft click of the door behind him before burying his head in his arms, finally allowing the tears to fall softly from his eyes. He wasn't even sure how he had ended up in this position. Lately he had just been feeling so frustrated with being treated like a little kid, and today he finally snapped. His rear end felt like it was on fire, and he wished he could just give in so his Dad wouldn't spank him anymore. He had never been threatened with the belt before, and although he'd never admit it, he was actually frightened of it. But something inside him wouldn't allow him to let John get the better of him. He didn't understand it, but he knew he couldn't let his father see him cry.

Right before his hour was up, Dean managed to compose himself, wiping the tears furiously from his eyes. A few moments later, he heard the door open and his father's heavy footsteps approach him from behind. He stiffened as he felt John's hand grasp him gently by the shoulder and turn him around.

John studied his son, feeling a small sense of hope when he saw the redness around Dean's eyes. He had been afraid that he really would have to resort to using the belt, but seeing that Dean was starting to give in assured him that it wouldn't be necessary. He walked Dean over to the bed and sat down, taking his son's smaller hands into his own.

"Dean, you're not doing yourself any favors keeping everything bottled up inside, son," he said tiredly. "If you just give in and accept your spanking, this will be a lot easier on both of us." With that, he gently placed Dean over his lap, and once again began to spank the already sore bottom in front of him.

Dean jumped slightly as his father's hard hand paddled his tender behind. He didn't believe it was possible for John to spank him any harder than he had earlier, but he was wrong. Every swat seared into his skin, and he was sure that he wasn't going to sit down for a month. Still, he gritted his teeth and showed no sign of even feeling the spanks except for jumping every time his father's hand made contact with his backside.

John was growing increasingly frustrated. He knew Dean's rear end had to hurt like hell, if the feeling in his own hand was any indication. Why was he being so incredibly stubborn? He shook his head, hating what he was about to do, but seeing no other alternative.

"Dean," he said firmly, "obviously my hand isn't enough to get through to you, so we're going to have to resort to something else. Get up and bend over the bed, now."

John's harsh words caused something to break inside of Dean, and he immediately burst into tears. "No, Daddy!" he wailed. "Please don't whip me, I'll be good, I promise! Please, Daddy, don't spank me with your belt, please!"

That was all John needed to hear. He immediately lifted Dean up and sat him on his lap, letting his dark red bottom rest between his knees. Dean threw his arms around his father's neck, his tears soaking into his flannel shirt. John was mildly aware of a tear trickling down his own cheek as he rocked his weeping son. He had been so afraid that he was losing Dean when he screamed that he hated him, and even more afraid when the boy refused to accept his punishment. Feeling Dean's thin arms clinging to his neck reassured him that he had his son back.

"Shhh, it's alright, Dean," he soothed, rubbing the shaking back with the same hand that he just roasted the rebellious behind. "You're okay, buddy, I've got you, you're okay."

"I…I'm s-sorry, Daddy," Dean choked out, ashamed to even look at his father. "I'm sorry I got in trouble at school…and I'm sorry I yelled at you…and I'm sorry for…" he trailed off.

John continued to rock him slowly. "For what, kiddo?" he said softly.

"For…for yelling at you that I hated you," Dean whimpered, a fresh wave of tears soaking John's shirt once more. "I didn't mean it Daddy, I'm sorry!'

"Oh, Dean," John said tenderly. "I know you didn't mean it buddy. I said some stuff I didn't mean either. You've got my temper, kid, and we both need to learn to control it better. I'm sorry, too."

Dean lifted his tear stained face to look at his father, and John smiled gently at him, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "Now," he continued, a little more firmly. "We need to talk about a few things, young man." Dean nodded uncertainly, and John rubbed his back comfortingly.

"First of all," he began, "You are going to get your act together in school. You are going to do your homework every night, and if you need help, you come ask me-don't just give up on it. And you are going to respect your teachers, do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Dean said quietly, and John smiled, glad to have his obedient son back.

"Second of all," he continued, "If you want me to stop treating you like a little kid, you are going to stop acting like one. When you have a problem with me, you do not ever scream in my face. It has never been okay for you to shout at me, and it never will be. If you come and talk to me calmly and respectfully, I won't yell at you either. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," John replied. "Now, there's one more thing," he added a little more softly. "I have never had to spank you with anything but my hand before, and I hope I'll never have to. But Dean, if you ever yell at me and disrespect me again the way you did today, I will give you a whipping with my belt. I won't like it, but I'm not going to tolerate this attitude, son. Do you understand?"

Dean nodded furiously. His dad's hand hurt enough, he didn't even want to think about what his thick leather belt would feel like. "Yes, sir, I understand."

"Alright, then," John said, cuddling Dean close for a moment longer before setting him on his feet, chuckling to himself as Dean realized that he was still bare and hurried to get his clothes in place. "What do you say we go get some food in you, and then we can watch a movie with Sammy?"

"Okay, Dad," Dean said shyly. John was getting ready to head out the door when Dean surprised him by throwing his arms around his waist. "I love you, Dad," he whispered quietly. "I'm sorry about the way I acted today."

John felt a lump rise in his throat as he hugged Dean close. "I love you too, kiddo," he whispered thickly. They stood there for a few seconds before John let go, looking down into his son's eyes.

"We better get down there and find something to watch on TV, son," he said, throwing an arm around Dean's shoulders. "Because it's the last time you're watching TV for the next few days."

Dean winced slightly. "Grounded?" he guessed.

John nodded. "You were suspended for three days for swearing at your teacher, and you are going to spend those three days doing chores, studying, and training. No TV, no arcade, nothing."

Dean sighed. "Okay," he said reluctantly.

"Hey, look on the bright side, kiddo," John said, tightening his arm around Dean's shoulders. "You get to spend three days at home with your old man."

Dean rolled his eyes. "How did I get to be so lucky?" he asked sarcastically, and John laughed, glad to have his son back.

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