Author: Astrangerfate

#3 - Insubordination


Type of Story

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Author's Note: Disclaimer – I don't own Supernatural or the lyrics from the song 'Light My Fire' from The Doors.

Light My Fire

August 19th, 1995

"Man, I love Ohio," Dean crowed softly, leaning forward in his seat as the entrance to the school gym swung open. He sat idling in John's Impala, watching the long limbed Ohioans—Ohioans? Oh whatever, they were cheerleaders, man—coming out with skirts flouncing and blond hair shining. One girl with legs that went ALL the way up made an art of bending over to fasten the strap of her sandal. He and the Impala got a few curious looks as the squad strutted by. And well, he would be lying if he said they weren't the kind of looks he liked.

The tape switched sides, and Jim Morrison's husky voice started singing "You know that it would be untrue, you know that I would be a liar…" As if on cue, Brandi Hopkins stepped out into the sunlight. And damn if her skirt wasn't even shorter than that cheerleading outfit she'd been wearing at practice.

She slid into the front seat and placed her a hand on Dean's knee. "Thanks for the ride, Dean," she said with an irresistible smile.

"Any time."

She lowered her eyelashes slowly, looking up at him and smiling. "You're not in a hurry, are you?" she asked, moving her hand an inch higher on his leg. "Because I was thinking, I know you're new here. It's not a real big town, but there might be a few places you haven't been. I could show you around, if you like."

"Oh, I like," Dean said with absolute sincerity. Brandi blushed, but didn't drop her gaze. He cranked up the volume and put the car into gear. "Just tell me where," he directed. And she did.


Brandi smiled enthusiastically at the tall sixteen-year-old. "Well, I guess you've seen it all," she said coyly as he braked in front of her house. "Unless you wanted to go get a pizza or something? You know, see a little more…civilization."

"Much as I would love to do a little more exploring with you," he said looking regretfully at Brandi's blouse, "it's almost nine o'clock and I have to feed my dork brother."

"Oh," she said, disappointment evident in her voice. "Well, see you Monday then?"

Dean grimaced at the prospect of waiting an entire weekend. He was obviously being blown off, and there was no way he was allowing that to happen. "Well," he said, "my dad won't be back in town 'til tomorrow or Sunday. If you wanted to drop by later tonight, I could leave my window open." He was mostly joking, but she latched on to the idea.

"That's so Romeo and Juliet!" she giggled, suddenly pleased.

He joined in on her laughter, a little confused at her amusement but ready to take full advantage of it. "Okay, then. See you around midnight?"

"Let's make it eleven."

He nodded his agreement.

"And thanks for the ride, Dean," she said again.

"Yeah, you totally owe me for that," he said seriously. "I mean, it's so out of my way. I really deserve a big thank-you—"

"You live next door!" she shrieked indignantly, giving him a playful punch in the arm. "God, Dean, you're such an ass!" Then suddenly she was halfway in his lap, licking his ear.

"Yeah, but I'm your ass," he murmured. "Mmm, and this is my ass," he said, sliding his hand up under her skirt to squeeze it.

She smacked his hand mildly as it traveled to her thigh. "Wait till eleven," she grinned, hopping out of the car as quickly as she had hopped onto his lap, leaving him breathless.

Dean exhaled loudly, watching her run up to her front door. "Eleven o'clock!" he yelled back. She turned and blew him a kiss before disappearing through the screen door.

Grinning, Dean slid the car forward into his own driveway, singing along to the music. "The time to hesitate is through," he sang, stopped abruptly when he saw his father's truck parked in front of him. The music played on. Try now, we can only lose… He turned it off abruptly. Shit.

He shook off his momentary panic, shrugging as he stepped out of the car. Just act normal, he reminded himself, though he couldn't help glancing at his watch. A confident attitude might convince most people that he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, but John Winchester was gonna want an explanation.

He made his way to the kitchen as casually as possible, walking straight past his father to grab a soda from the fridge. "So, Dad," he called over his shoulder. "Guess you smoked that werewolf early, huh?"

"Actually, funny you should ask. I didn't," said John, sitting down at the kitchen table. "Come here, Dean."

Busted. "Something wrong, Dad?" Dean asked as he popped open the tab on his drink, the picture of unconcern.

"Yeah, something's wrong, Dean. I had to ditch the hunt. Called Joshua to finish it for me, since it's about an hour's drive south of those murders he's handling in Bennington. I had to let someone else take care of the damned thing because your brother called me." John paused, possibly for dramatic effect, Dean thought wryly. "He was practically delirious with fever and he didn't know where you'd gone. Now tell me what's wrong with that picture."

There was a right answer to this, Dean knew. It was admitting that he screwed up and apologizing. However, that would only get him saddled with extra training for the next month. Might as well go whole hog. "Well, if I had a cell phone, Sammy could have called me instead," he said, smiling disarmingly.

The look on John's face was not encouraging. Tactical error. Crap. "Dean, you tell me exactly where you were for six hours, and what you were doing," his father ordered. "And if you mouth off to me again, you can hand over your keys to the Impala. Are we clear?"

"Yessir." When Dad used that tone of voice, Dean said "yessir" without even thinking. Because no matter what he was thinking, that tone meant that the only answer John wanted to hear was "yessir." Dean took a deep breath, suppressing the smartass comments he was tempted to make. "Our next door neighbor goes to school with me, and she volunteered to show me around town."

"She?" John asked, obviously surprised he hadn't realized what this was about.

"Her name's Brandi, and she's on the Varsity cheerleading squad," Dean said, offering his father a hopeful grin.

John didn't smile back. "Dean, I want you to listen to me, and listen good," he said sternly. Dean flushed a little; he hated being treated like a little kid. "I know you're a teenage boy, and you're bound to want to experiment with some of these things, but you need to keep your priorities straight. Do your thinking with your upstairs brain. While I'm gone, you have a job do and that is to watch out for your little brother, not to play tonsil hockey with some cheerleader."

"Yessir." Dean wasn't meeting his father's eyes.

"Son, look at me." Dean looked up slowly, face tight with frustration and flushed with shame. "You have a responsibility to this family. I need to be able to rely on you, and that means you need to stop chasing girls and focus. You got that?"

There was that voice again. "Yessir."

"Good. Because the next time I have to make this point, I'll be making it with my belt."

Dean flinched instinctively. John had spanked him only half a dozen times since he turned thirteen, and usually didn't even feel the need to threaten it, at least with Dean. Sam, of course, was a different story, going over John's knee practically every time he turned around. But the fact that John had brought it up now showed how serious he was about this.

"I've already eaten, and your brother won't be holding anything down for a while. There's stuff in the fridge for you to make yourself a sandwich." John said shortly, getting up from the table and leaving Dean alone.

"Shit," Dean said to no one in particular. The night was suddenly looking a lot less exciting than it had ten minutes ago. Except, why shouldn't Brandi still come over? She was going to climb in through the window anyway, right? And as long as they kept quiet… Dad would be busy with Sam. Dean grinned in spite of himself, Sure, with John home it was more risky, but that almost made the idea more appealing. He felt a rush of adrenaline at the thought. He could manage it.

On his way back to his bedroom, he stopped in front of Sam's door, feeling a little guilty about leaving the kid alone. Sam didn't get sick often, but when he did it was usually pretty bad, heavy on the puking and the fever. He opened the door without knocking, and went to sit on the edge of Sammy's bed.

Sam was awake, looking a little flushed and more than a little cranky. "You left," he said accusingly, and Dean wondered why he'd felt sorry for the brat. Obviously Sam wasn't feeling as bad as he had been, if he was well enough to bitch out his older brother.

"How the hell was I supposed to know you were sick?" Dean responded, just as irritably.
"Geez, couldn't you have just waited for me to get home? Dad just totally reamed me out for leaving you."

"Serves you right," Sam grumbled, although he did look slightly concerned at his brother's pronouncement. "Dad didn't punish you, did he?"

"Nah, just made a bunch of empty threats" At least, I hope they were empty.

"That's good," Sam replied, snuggling into Dean's side. "I'm sorry I got you in trouble," he said, yawning.

"It's cool, Sammy," Dean said, putting his arm around his little brother. "Come on, why don't you get some sleep…you look like crap."


"You know it, bitch."

Dean stayed with Sam until he fell asleep, then crept down the hall to his own room. He was sure if he ran into John, his father would know something was up, and he didn't even want to think about the consequences of him finding out.


The window had been open for half an hour when Dean first caught the sound of footsteps outside. All the lights in his room were out, and his heart rate quickened in spite of himself.

Brandi's tennis shoes crunched alarmingly in the dry leaves.

"Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?" came a titter from outside.

"Shhh!" he hissed quietly, crossing the room, quickly brushing away the last remnants of a salt line before he gave her a hand over the sill. "My dad came home early, so we have to be really quiet."

"Deny thy father and refuse thy name!" she advised, giggling even more shrilly as she stumbled into his arms.

"No, really," he insisted, more than a little weirded out by her mood. "We're screwed if he walks in on us."

"This is kind of turning me on, Dean," Brandi said. "It's so exciting. You know, I've never climbed through a window before," she said, breaking into laughter again. Dean stifled the sound by bringing his mouth up to hers in an overriding kiss.

She kissed him back, encouraging him with her slim tongue and reminding him why he thought this was a good, even brilliant idea. But when he finally broke away, breathing in the tang of some girly flower smell she brought with her, Brandi gave him a wicked grin.

"Gee, Dean, if I didn't know better I'd say you were scared of getting caught," she teased, taking a seat on his old twin bed, absently tidying her lipstick with one finger, letting the other hand play with the edge of her skirt.

"Me, scared?" Dean asked with all the bravado that sprung to his head at the sight. "If I was scared, would I be doing this?" he teased, gripping her waist and planting another kiss on her open lips. He began plucking at the buttons on her light pink blouse, making an impatient noise at how difficult it was to undo the tiny snaps.

"Deeeeannn…hurry up," Brandi begged, twitching convulsively.

"Just a minute, babe," he panted, finally releasing the last button and pressing his body against hers. The two of them fell heavily onto the creaking mattress. Dean scrambled gracelessly up towards the headboard to return her hungry kisses.

The bed creaked alarmingly, but Dean decided to ignore it, hastily reaching down to unbutton his pants.

Brandi bounced back and Dean dove to follow. The bed had had enough. Unlike the lusty teens, it wasn't up for a midnight romp. Dean's enthusiastic dive become a disconcerting plunge as the bed creaked and fell with a booming collision, the ancient metal snapping at the bolts.

Brandi shrieked shrilly, but didn't appear to be hurt. She looked at Dean with wide eyes.

"Just fuck," Dean breathed, but before he could even comprehend the magnitude of the situation, the door opened, revealing his father and, yes, his brother. John's eyes bulged at the sight. "What the hell's going on here?" his father bellowed, and if Dean hadn't seen people who were truly possessed he would have sworn that John was doing a damn good impersonation.

"What is he doing?" Sammy asked, curiosity piqued, "Is that a girl?"

John quickly blocked the sight from his impressionable twelve-year-old. "Sammy, go to bed," he ordered.

"The bed broke," Dean said quickly, buttoning up his pants and hoping like hell they wouldn't be coming down again anytime soon.

"Yeah, I can see that, Dean. And just what is a girl doing in your bedroom?"

"Leaving, actually," Brandi said hastily. She had pulled Dean's blanket up to her throat to cover her state of undress, and fumbled beneath it one-handed, trying to refasten her blouse.

"I think that's wise," said John. He turned his attention once more to his oldest son, who couldn't help shuddering slightly at his father's stern expression.

"ON YOUR FEET," John barked. Mortified, Dean disentangled himself from the bedclothes, scrambling to his feet. "Dean, we just had a discussion about girls this evening, didn't we?!"

He could see Brandi's stricken look from the corner of his eye. "I told you, Dad, she's just trying to help me get used to Ohio…" he said weakly.

"And I told you there was a time and a place for girls, and this wasn't it."

"Yessir," Dean mumbled. Brandi had jumped away from the fallen bed as though it would burn her, and she was heading for the window.

John cleared his throat. "You can go out the door this time," he told her. "You live next door, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Winchester," she said in a low voice. She shot Dean a worried glance as she slipped past John, closing the door behind her.

Once they were alone, John turned a level eye on his son. "What else did I tell you tonight, Dean?" he asked dangerously.

"Sir?" he asked, playing as dumb as he could. If I don't say it, maybe it won't happen.

"Cut the crap, Dean. What did I tell you what would happen if you kept on focusing on girls instead of doing your job?"

"You said you'd…take away the keys to the Impala?" Dean suggested optimistically.

"Wrong answer, pal," said John, striding across the room to grab Dean's upper arm. He dragged his son out into the living room. The screen door creaked slightly on its hinges.

"Wait here," John ordered, depositing Dean on the worn sofa. He locked up the house again, returning to stand in front of his son with his arms crossed across his chest. "Now you tell me exactly what I said to you about paying too much attention to girls," he ordered.

Dean's ears were burning. "You said if you had to make the point again, you'd make it with your belt," he said, spitting the words out as quickly as he could.

"You bet your ass, I did. I didn't think I'd have to make good on that just two hours later, but apparently you're not sufficiently impressed by threats to keep your head screwed on straight. I guess I'll just have to fix that."

With that, John brought his hands to the buckle of his belt. He slid the strip of leather through the loops on his jeans, doubling it and holding it by his side.

Dean swallowed as his father sat next to him, placing the folded belt on the coffee table. "You know the drill," John said grimly.

Dean balked a little, but he grappled manfully with the butterflies in his stomach and forced himself to stand up. It was harder to unzip his jeans and tug them to his knees, but he stared blankly at the wall, trying not to think about what he was doing. He leaned over his father's knees on autopilot, and recoiled from John's touch as the man tried to reposition him.

"Stop squirming, Dean," John ordered, disregarding the resistance and tugging his teenager into place.

Dean tried to relax, to let go of the stiffness in his muscles, but he couldn't. He didn't want this spanking. He didn't want to feel the pain, didn't want to cry, like he knew he would. Like he always did, even the last time, just before his sixteenth birthday.

He felt his father's hand at the waistband of his briefs and he kicked automatically, involuntarily. "No, Dad, please!" he said, panicked. His voice cracked despite his best attempts to keep it steady. Why the hell did you get into this mess? he asked himself. "Please don't, Dad, I'm really sorry!"

"This is how spankings work, Dean," John said evenly. "If I can't see what I'm doing I could make it worse than it needs to be."

It's bad enough already, Dean thought sarcastically, but he bit the inside of his cheek to keep silent as he felt the cotton slide over his backside.

John's hand descended without any preamble, landing quick and steady across Dean's bared bottom. He spanked methodically, alternating cheeks and going from the top of his son's bottom to the tops of his thighs. Dean cringed with every new swat, and soon the rapid blows had him gasping.

"Do you understand why I'm spanking you?" Dean heard his father ask, continuing the heavy smacks.

"Yessir," Dean whispered through clenched teeth.

"And why is that?"

Dean could feel the burn growing in his rear end, and as John laid two particularly hard spanks at the curve of his thighs he felt his eyes start to burn as well. "Because I disobeyed you and brought a girl into my room," he managed to get out.

"That's right. Directly after I had warned you about that. Which amounts to nothing more than insubordination, Dean. I gave you an order and you decided to ignore it."

"I'm sorry!" Dean apologized again, gripping the arm of the sofa in an attempt not to reach back to block John's hand.

"Not as sorry as you're going to be." With that John picked up the belt from where he had placed it on the coffee table. "You're getting sixteen with the belt, Dean, and I expect you to count."

One hand flew to Dean's mouth as he felt his father raise his arm; the other clutched the scratchy fabric of the couch. The tears were pricking in the corners of his eyes now, and one obnoxious drop threatened to escape and trickle down the bridge of his nose. He pressed his face into the sofa cushions, hoping they would muffle his cries.

The belt cracked across his sore backside and the tears sprang from his eyes of their own accord. "O-one," he stammered, his fingers itching to reach behind and soothe the fiery stripe.

John brought the belt down again dispassionately. "Two," Dean counted dutifully, shoulders shaking as he tried to suppress his sobs.

The next spank landed across his thighs, and he couldn't stop the strangled wail that broke out. It was almost a minute before he realized that his father was still waiting for him to count. "Three," he choked bitterly.

"Good boy," said John, and the next swats were a little lighter, although Dean could no longer tell the difference as the belt lit a fire in his ass.

He sobbed his way through the next few spanks, and John let him take his time in counting, offering words of encouragement. After twelve Dean broke down completely, racked by the shuddering sobs. It was almost two minutes before he could control the ragged breaths enough to apologize. "Dad…Daddy," he begged. "Please, Dad, I'm sorry…."

His father's voice rumbled from overhead. "You need to count, son," he said, but it was a gentle reminder.

"Twelve, that was twelve, please Daddy," Dean begged. The tears were hot running down his cheeks, and he could taste the tang from the salty drops that had found their way into his mouth. "Please, Dad, I'm sorry…."

"I know you are. We're almost there, buddy."

Dean choked out the count to the next four swats, trembling the whole time. As soon as he got out the word "sixteen," he heard the belt being dropped to the ground and felt his father's hand tugging his underwear back into place and resting on his back.

"That's my boy," John praised him, rubbing his hand in small circles as Dean howled remorsefully.

"I'm sorry," Dean wailed. "Really, really sorry…."

"I know you are," John soothed. "And I know you won't be defying me like that any time soon."

"No, sir," Dean sniffled, trying masterfully to check his tears. "I'm sorry, Dad, I was really stupid…." His crying got the better of him again, and he buried his head in his right elbow, shaking from the sobs. He still couldn't believe that the night had ended with a whipping over Daddy's knees, or that he had been so stupid as to practically ask for it.

"You're fine, Dean. You just needed a reminder about what's important. And you won't be making this mistake again. Because girls are one thing, Dean, and keeping this family safe is another. You don't need any complications in our line of work."

"No, sir." Dean sniffled loudly and wiped the back of his hand roughly across his eyes as he rocked back, standing up. He perched on the edge of the sofa, but John wrapped his arms around him, hauled him onto his lap. He felt a little too big to be sitting there, but he couldn't shake how safe it felt, and how close he was to his dad.

"I'm sorry I had to spank you tonight, Dean," John began.

"You and me both, believe me," Dean agreed fervently with a breathy laugh.

John rolled his eyes. "I'm glad to see it didn't damage your sense of humor," he returned. "But I want to make sure you're going to take this seriously."

"I'm not joining a monastery, Dad. I don't want to swear off girls," Dean admitted frankly, raising his wet eyes and giving his father the ghost of a grin.

John squeezed his shoulders, resigned to Dean's efforts to make everything flippant. "Just give up the awkward timing," he said. "And you make damn sure that Sam and I don't need you before you go joyriding with cheerleaders, and at least try to set a good example for your brother."

"Yes, sir," Dean said, fidgeting as much as his aching behind would allow, past ready to stand up.

"I guess it's about time for bed, then," John said, releasing his son, who jumped out and began pulling his jeans to his waist before freezing midway.

"Uh, Dad? In case you forgot, my bed's kind of…smashed." Dean stared at his feet, waiting for the lecture on how that bed was built for one kid, not two hormonal teens going carnal.

"Yeah, it sure is," said John. His mouth twitched at the memory. Dean's tear-streaked face flushed. He would never get over this embarrassment as long as he lived.

His father softened at the sight. "Tell you what, kiddo, you sleep in my bed tonight," he said kindly. "I'll be up checking on your brother anyway, so I might as well nap on the couch."

"Thanks, Dad," Dean said gratefully. Somehow getting to third base and getting one hell of a spanking was even more tiring than burning corpses in the dead of night. He shuffled to his father's bedroom, walking slowly to minimize the contact between his tender bottom and the sturdy denim.

When he reached John's bedroom, Dean instantly shed his jeans, relishing the small relief it gave his punished backside. He had just crawled under the covers and rolled over onto his stomach when he heard the door creak open.

"Dean?" his little brother whispered. "Are you okay?"

Dean groaned inwardly. The last thing he wanted to deal with tonight was his nosy baby brother. "I'm fine, Sammy, now get out of here."

"Dude, you had a girl in your room!" Sam gushed. "How far did you get?"

Dean's eyes widened as he propped himself up. John's point about setting a good example for Sam was becoming all too clear. "Look, Sam, Dad just made it perfectly clear that I shouldn't be getting anywhere at all with girls. I don't even want to think about what he'd say if he thought I was giving you the details."

"How bad was it?" Sam asked, suddenly subdued.

Dean groaned again. "He definitely lit my ass on fire with his hand and then he used his frigging belt. I swear, I'm not gonna sit down for a week."

Sam walked over and rubbed his brother comfortingly on the back. "I'm sorry, Dean," he said regretfully. "I should never have called Dad…"

Dean sat up abruptly, ignoring the pain in his roasted rear end. "Sammy, this was my fault," he said firmly. "I made the dumb decision. Now, quit worrying about me and get your ass back in bed before Dad comes in here and spanks you for being up while you're sick."

Sam didn't need to be warned twice. He nodded quickly and scurried out of the room, whispering over his shoulder, "Night, Dean."

Dean slid back onto his stomach with a long sigh, and had peace for all of thirty seconds before Jim Morrison started singing in his head.

Try to set the night on fire
Try to set the night on fire…

He groaned. "I'm pitching that cassette tomorrow," he muttered. He started humming "Enter Sandman," and was asleep instantaneously.

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