Prompt: # 45 - Vengeance
Type of Story: General
Author's Website: None
Autohor's Note: This story is set immediately following the episode 'Bedtime Stories' from season 3.
When Sam silently let himself back into the hotel room, moving stealthily, just as he'd been trained, he realized he'd let his guard down to soon. He'd made it into the room, and had silently shucked his jacket, slipped out of his shoes, and dropped his backpack without a sound, Even as he moved towards the beds in the darkness, he wasn't aware. At least not until
"Were you ever going to tell me, Sammy? Or just keep your little trip a secret."
Dean's voice in the darkness made Sam jump about a mile and sent his heart racing.
The light between the beds came on, illuminating the small room, and making the full moon on the picture above Dean's bed glow like the real thing. Dean was sitting up in bed, arms crossed over his chest. The glow of the lamp threw his expressionless face into planes of light and shadow, making Sam shiver in spite of himself.
Stiffening slightly, Sam made himself relax, and faking a nonchalance he didn't feel, pulled off his sweatshirt and dropped it on his bed.
"Well?" Dean's voice was as cold as his face.
Sam shrugged. "My business. I'm back aren't I?" He turned his back to Dean and headed for the bathroom.
"Yeah you are. What'd you do?"
"Sam!" Dean's voice was a firm demand.
Sam was reminded of the last couple of fights in the car. Dean could still get information out of him with just that tone of voice, despite Sam's best intentions.
"Killed the crossroads demon," he found himself saying without realizing it as he splashed his face.
Sam looked up at the mirror in horror at what he'd just said. What was it about Dean that Sam just found himself spilling stuff regardless of his honest intentions.
Sam winced. Dean's response was about what Sam had figured. Quickly changing into sleep pants and a tee shirt, he re-emerged, ready for battle. And he intended to hold his own on this one.
He found his older brother sitting on the side of his bed, rubbing his face.
"Tell me you didn't, Sam." Dean's voice was quiet.
"I did. She wouldn't let you out of the deal, and told me somebody else held the contract. She wouldn't tell me who." Sam shrugged as he sat down on his bed across from his brother. "She won't be making anymore deals, that's for sure."
Dean cocked his head and looked at his stone faced brother. "Geezus. I thought we'd talked about this!" His anger was clear.
Sam exploded. "No Dean. You talked. You ordered. You dictated. You informed me! Dean, I'm the one who's going to have to live without you. What makes you think I'm going to give up that easy! And she deserved to die!"
Dean felt the finger of fear down his spine once again at his brother's last comment, and clamped down on that thought. He'd handle it later. Now, however, he had a few other things that needed to be dealt with immediately.
"What'd I tell you, huh? Anything tries to break the deal, you die. No, Sam. No way. Not having it."
"That's it? Just because you say so?" Sam was livid, his anger showing in his sharp, expressive gestures.
"Yeah," Dean said strongly. "I'm the oldest, remember?"
"NO!" Sam jumped to his feet and began to pace. "Not good enough."
Dean's eyes narrowed. He'd forgotten just how much Sam could work himself up. He'd been that way since he was a child - able to work himself into a glorious tantrum. John would finally have to just spank him in order to get him to just cry and let go. It had worked as much as a release as a punishment.
A small spark went off in Dean's brain, and he stilled at the thought. Maybe . . . But no. He couldn't be thinking . . . But, it would cover about everything, help reestablish control, and redefine some boundaries. But . . . Sam was an adult.
'He's 23. Not all that old.' Dean could hear his father's voice plain as day. Would Dad have . . .? And Dean knew that the answer was a resounding yes. As a matter of fact, Dean could clearly remember a time not so long ago when John had redirected HIM at an age he felt he was far beyond it.
" . . . And you're not Dad!"
Sam's angry voice caught Dean's attention again. Or it may have been the index finger poking him in the chest as his little brother made his point, face mere inches from Dean's own.
'Sammy's out of control, Dean.' John's voice echoed again. He could hear it plain as day, as though John was whispering in his ear.
'Oh, what the hell' Dean thought, 'it just might work.' And quick as lightning, he grabbed his ranting brother's arm, gave a quick twist, and had Sam flat over his lap, positioned nicely, in less than a second.
There was a moment of flabbergasted silence, then Sam went into full rant mode.
"What the hell is this about! Let me up you bastard!"
"Uh, uh, uh, Sammy. Language." Dean admonished, and brought his palm down as hard as he could on his brother's backside.
Sam yelped and bucked. "You're SPANKING me?!?" He was incredulous. "No way!" Then he fought to get free.
Dean had the upper hand though. He pinned his brother down, trapped his legs, pinned Sam's hands at the small of his back, then began to spank in earnest.
Sam squirmed, yelled, fought, and argued against the humiliating position he found himself in.
Not much different than when he was 10, Dean thought, amused. "Sorry Sammy, but a tantrum is a tantrum, and we'll deal with that first."
With that, Dean just shut his mouth and spanked. He hadn't paddled Sam in many years. But it was just like riding a bike. However, Sam was stronger than he used to be, Dean reflected. And his brother just wasn't giving in as quickly as he used to. Time to reestablish control. Without even breaking rhythm, he whipped down the sleep pants, and continued spanking the rapidly warming bare backside.
Sam bellowed and renewed his fight. Dean just sighed and spanked harder. He remembered that had always been the hardest part. Getting through to his brother and stopping the tantrum.
It seemed to take forever, and Dean's hand was stinging, but finally he heard it. A slight hitch in his breathing, then a quieting of the yelling and swearing. Dean kept at it.
'Are you ready to be reasonable?' John's voice talking to a much younger Sam echoed again as conjured in Dean's mind. Dean didn't even wonder at it, Just followed the lead.
"Are you ready to be reasonable?" Dean asked quietly, stilling his hand and watching the shaking shoulders.
A quick nod his brother's head, and a shaky drawing of breath.
"Fine. Now, I understand you wanting to break the deal, but I'd already told you no."
Sam stiffened and made as to turn, beginning to vocally protest. A quick, hard swat on his crimson backside stopped him immediately from heading back down that path.
"So, why did you go?"
A moment of silence, then Sam answered quietly, "Because I had to try."
"Okay, I get that," Dean commented. "But you know what happened the last couple of times you left in the middle of the night. You know we're safer together through this. And you knew I'd be beyond pissed. So what did you think would happen?"
Sam just shrugged.
Dean thought hard. 'Help me here, Dad!' And again, as though his father was right beside him, he knew exactly what to say. He didn't even hesitate. "Well, Sammy, actions have consequences."
Sam stiffened at that. Dean couldn't be planning more. Could he?
"We'll come back to that. Now about the demon. Killing her was just plain vengeance, Sammy. Bad idea."
"She'd keep making deals, Dean!" Sam blurted out, before he even thought about the position he was in, and the consequences of arguing further.
"And that made killing her right, how?" Dean asked quietly.
"Because it's what we do, dumbass!" Sam answered in irritation.
Dean slammed his had down sharply on the blazing red target in front of him. "Watch your mouth, kid," he warned, as Sam gasped and bit back a yell. "Yeah, it's what we do. But not out of vengeance."
"Dean! What the hell do you think the killing the yellow-eyed demon was all about!" Sam struggled vainly to free himself again. It was pretty hard to have this conversation when you were being treated like a kid, and laid out with your ass in the air. He knew he was right when pain blazed once again, and this time, he couldn't contain the yelp.
"Be civil, Sammy. Yeah, the yellow-eyed demon started out as vengeance. And there was some of that there. But hunting is also about saving people. You killed the cross-roads demon because you were pissed. Bad choice. That makes you no better than they are."
Sam drew in his breath to argue again, and was stopped by another sharp smack.
"Part three, Sam. Chain of command. When did you forget that?"
Sam paused, trying to decide if it was safe to answer, then "We're not in the military, Dean, and Dad's gone! I have ideas of my own."
"Ideas that can get you killed, Sam," Dean said, trying to decide how to handle this. "Yeah, Dad's gone, but he raised us right, and raised us better than the line of crap you're feeding me now."
Sam started to protest, but Dean could hear his father once more, dealing with his little brother, 'Sam can argue all of us in circles, Dean. I paddle his backside to make a point without giving him an opportunity to confuse the issue.' Dean smiled slightly and cut his bother short.
"This ends now, Sammy," he continued. "Actions have consequences, pal. It's time you remembered. This isn't a democracy. Lying won't be tolerated. Vengeance can have it's place, but not in this case. And I will not have you risking your life. Got it?"
The lack of response made Dean tighten his lips. "Sam!"
"I got it," came the sullen reply.
Dean shook his head. Stubborn to the last. "Fine. I see the tantrum is finally over. Now let's take care of the rest."
Dean didn't bother to answer, just began to paddle the warm backside in front of him. He did a thorough job of it, covering every square inch, hearing his father's voice once more. 'Dean, Sam is stubborn. If I'm going to spank him, I'm going to do a total job of it, otherwise, I'll be doing it tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. I want to make sure he remembers for a long time.'
With John's words echoing, Dean did just that. Sam wasn't going to want to sit down for quite sometime when he finished with him.
Sam was sobbing, his breath catching, into the covers of Dean's bed when he finally finished. Shaking out his hand, he said quietly as he gently patted his brother's back, "Okay, Sammy. We're done."
Dean was unpleasantly surprised when Sam just rolled off his lap and gathered up his sleep pants just enough to cover his privates and stumbled into the bathroom, wiping his face with his other hand, not even looking at his brother.
"Well, that didn't go as expected," Dean muttered grimly, as he watched the door shut and heard the lock click. He'd thought that Sam would have instigated a chick-flick moment for sure.
Frowning, he leaned back on his bed, and shut off the light, thinking hard. He'd done the right thing, he knew it. Sam would think twice before pulling any stunt like this again. He'd just have to let Sam cool down.
It wasn't until much, much later that Dean heard the bathroom door open, and heard Sam stumble back towards the beds. Giving him some privacy, he listened as his brother settled into bed, wincing a little as he heard Sam's stifled gasps. Sam would definitely be hurting for awhile, no doubt about that. And he'd probably be really, really pissed for even longer. But he would behave, of that Dean had no doubt.
Dean just lay quietly. He'd get a peace offering in the morning, just to clear the air. Then maybe they could talk without arguing. He was already trying to think where the nearest Starbucks was when he heard the soft hitching breathes. If he didn't know his brother so well, he'd have missed them entirely. 'Jeez, Sammy, you just have to do everything the hard way,' he thought as he threw his covers back and muscled his way onto his brother's bed.
"What?" Sam's voice was ragged, confirming Dean's suspicions.
"Scared of the thing in the closet, jackass," Dean muttered as he unceremoniously shoved his brother over and lay down on top of the bed next to him, snagging his own blanket as he did so.
Dean hid his grin at the indignation in his brother's tone. He threw his blanket over himself and settled down. "Besides, my hand hurts," he said seriously.
A incredulous pause, then a muffled snort of watery laughter answered. Not up to Sam's usual standard by any means, but reassuring him of his little brother's returning sanity.
"And I should care . . . why?" Sam inquired, voice still rough, and muffled in his pillow.
"Because that's what brother's do, Sammy," Dean informed him, patting his brother's back comfortingly, rewarded as Sam shifted involuntarily closer to him. The unsaid was as important as the said, Dean mused, thinking again of how John had handled younger son.
"I'm sorry Sammy, really I am," Dean whispered quietly. "But I will keep you safe." He could sense Sam listening in the darkness. "Nothing bad is going to happen to you. Promise." He patted Sam's tight shoulder once more for good measure, then settled back.
He could feel the slight shaking as Sam finished bringing himself under control, and listened to the muffled, hitching breaths. His closeness was clearly easing Sam's tension, and Dean could feel exhaustion overtaking his little brother.
He listened as Sam's hitching breaths eventually stopped, evening out into the clear pattern of sleep. Talking was definitely overrated, but sometimes necessary, Dean thought as he himself drifted off to sleep, Sam's shoulder touching his.
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