Prompt: #6 - Health
Type of Story: General
Author's Website: Kara_Winchester's LJ
Author's Note: Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the Winchester's, and I am in Eric Kripke's debt for creating them J
"I can't believe I'm at school," Dean thought, staring at his lunch. His stomach lurched at the thought of food. The night before, he had woken up in a cold sweat and had barely made it to the bathroom before puking up his dinner. But there was no way he was letting John know he was sick, not with their weekend werewolf hunt at stake.
He had seen his dad kill a werewolf a couple of years ago, so it wasn't going to be anything new. However, John had been allowing Dean to take a lot more control in the hunts as he got older, and he had informed Dean that not only would he be taking part in this hunt, but he would also be making the kill. Dean had been looking forward to this chance for days, and there was no way in hell he was going to allow a queasy stomach to get in the way of his shot at glory.
Now that the school day was almost over, Dean was finally realizing that there was no way in hell he would be in any condition to hunt tonight. He felt dizzy, lightheaded and uncomfortably warm, and he couldn't help wondering whether he was making the right decision. His mind wandered to previous times that he had been sick, when John had tucked him into bed and made him chicken noodle soup and even read to him. Dean closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to have his dad come pick him up so he could go home and get better. He knew, though, that admitting to John that he was sick would cost him the hunt. Although he felt miserable, Dean allowed his stubborn pride to get the best of him and decided to remain at school. He couldn't give up the chance.
When Sam and Dean arrived home from school, John ordered them to load up the car while he went over his research one last time. As they were packing up the guns, Sammy noticed that his brother looked slightly pale and a little shaky.
"Dean, are you okay? You look like you're gonna fall over at any second."
Dean took a deep breath before turning to face his brother. "I'm fine, Sammy," he replied, giving his little brother a fake smile. "I just didn't eat much at lunchtime and I'm pretty hungry. Once we stop and get something on the road, I'll be okay."
Sammy eyed him critically. "Are you sure, Dean? You look really pale, and I heard you getting up in the middle of the night. You're not sick are you?"
"Dude, keep your voice down!" Dean whispered nervously, looking around to make sure John wasn't in earshot. "Look, I wasn't feeling well last night and I kinda threw up, but it's not a big deal! I feel good enough to make it through this hunt, but if Dad suspects that I'm not my usual self, he won't let me go."
"Dean, you can't go hunt a werewolf if you're sick! This is going to be dangerous enough as it is without you taking stupid chances. I'm telling Dad!"
Dean grabbed his little brother's arm and shook him slightly. "You even think about telling Dad and I'll tell him about you skipping training to go play soccer with your dorky friends!"
Sammy's eyes widened in panic. "Dean, that's not fair, you promised you wouldn't tell! Besides, this is different. I just wanted to have fun and you're doing something dangerous!"
"Sammy, for the last time, I'll be fine! I've been looking forward to this hunt for a long time and I'm not gonna let some stupid upset stomach get in the way. Just let it go and don't say anything to Dad. Please?" said Dean, deciding that asking his little brother nicely might work better than threatening him.
Sammy sighed. "Alright, Dean, I won't say anything. Just
promise to be careful, okay?"
Dean gave his brother a small grin. "I'm always careful, Sammy boy."
John Winchester walked out of the house and noticed that the boys hadn't finished loading the car. "Dean! Sam! Knock it off with the gossiping and get moving! We should be leaving right now!" he scolded, giving each boy a firm swat to get them hustling. Sam jumped away, looking slightly irritated, but John was surprised to hear Dean give a small whimper of pain and catch himself on the hood of the car. "Dean, you alright, son?"
Dean took a deep breath before facing his father, trying to play it cool. "I'm fine, Dad, why do you ask?"
John eyed him critically. "You look a little pale. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
"Of course," said Dean, feeling guilty as he looked in his dad's slightly worried eyes. "Just didn't eat much at lunch today
didn't really like the look of the tuna surprise."
"Well, you make sure you eat enough when we stop for dinner, you hear?" said John. . "Last thing we need is you passing out while we're facing a werewolf."
"Yes, sir," Dean nodded, trying to ignore the doubt growing in his stomach. With that, the Winchesters finished loading the car and headed down the road.
After they reached the town where the werewolf had been preying, John pulled the Impala into the parking lot of a small diner. As he and the boys got out of the car, he thought he saw Dean grab the door to steady himself, but he could have been imagining things. Still, he kept a sharp eye on the boy all throughout dinner. Dean and Sam were both being fairly quiet, but that was normal before a hunt. John was pleased to see that Dean finished his cheeseburger and fries, figuring that it was simply an empty stomach that was making him act strangely. However, John grew concerned once more when Dean leapt from his seat and headed to the bathroom. He looked over at Sam, who was watching his brother with a worried look.
"Sam," he said, causing the boy to jump slightly. "Is something going on with your brother?"
Sam looked at his father for a brief second before dropping his eyes to stare at his plate. "I don't think so, Dad. He hasn't mentioned anything to me."
John studied his youngest for a moment. He knew how close the boys were, and that they shared almost everything. It was certainly possible that Sammy was lying to him, but it was also possible that John was simply being an overprotective father and imagining that Dean's strange behavior. He decided to go with the latter and nodded at Sammy's response. "Alright, son."
Sam looked back up from his plate and tried to give John a grin, but he could only manage a weak smile. He hated lying to his dad; it made him feel so guilty. And he knew perfectly well that if John found out he was lying, he would be on the receiving end of a long lecture, not to mention a trip over his dad's knee. Still, he knew that if he told John that Dean was sick, John would take them home, probably giving Dean one hell of a spanking once they got there. And there was always the chance that Dean would decide to bring up the skipped trainings. So he kept his mouth shut and quietly munched on the last of his fries.
Dean was barely able to make it to the bathroom in time after eating a cheeseburger and fries at the roadside diner. After his entire meal had come up, he leaned his head against the side of the bathroom stall, the cool metal soothing his flushed skin. He knew in his heart that coming on this hunt was a mistake; he should have admitted to his dad that he was too sick to go. But he wanted so badly to prove to John that he could handle this werewolf, and he didn't want to look weak by giving in to his illness. With the hope of his dad's praise urging him on, Dean splashed some water on his face and headed back out to join his family, hoping that his Dad wouldn't notice his waning strength and bloodshot eyes. John watched Dean carefully as he sat down, but finally convinced himself that he was simply being overprotective.
After the Winchesters finished their dinner, they got back in the Impala and headed for the werewolf's hunting grounds. The next few hours were a hazy blur to Dean as he began to get sicker. He remembered leaving the diner and getting in the car with John and Sammy. He remembered trying to listen as his dad went over the plan one more time, but barely being able to keep his brain focused for more than a few seconds. He remembered crouching behind a tree in the woods, waiting in the dark for the werewolf to appear. But he had no idea how he ended up flat on his back, barely conscious, with the werewolf hovering directly above him.
John reacted in less than half a second. "Dean, get up and go for cover!" he shouted, abandoning his hiding place to run out and assist his son. But Dean remained still, apparently unconscious on the cold ground. Meanwhile, the werewolf was bearing down on the boy, saliva dripping from its heavy jaws. John raised his gun and fired a silver bullet, hitting the creature directly in the heart only seconds before it took his son for his own. The werewolf fell to the ground, dead, and John rushed to his son's side, heart pounding furiously.
"Dean! Dean, wake up son!" John shouted, barely keeping the panic out of his voice as he shook the boy gently. Dean opened his eyes halfway, giving his father a bleary and confused stare before speaking.
I don't know what happened
I don't feel so good
", Dean mumbled drowsily before closing his eyes again. John instinctively placed a broad hand on his son's forehead, growing concerned when he realized that the boy was burning up. His parental instincts were telling him to get his son home and into bed immediately. "Sammy, come help me with this gear! We need to get your brother home now!" John gently lifted his seventeen year old son in his arms as Sammy came scurrying over, looking frightened and a little nervous as he did what his father asked of him. The Winchesters made it back to the car, and John carefully laid Dean out across the back seat of the Impala, indicating to Sammy that he should get in the front seat. With that, John got behind the wheel and sped towards home.
Once John pulled into the driveway of their small rental house, he turned to his youngest son with instructions. "Sam, I want you to go inside and draw a bath for your brother. Make sure the water is only lukewarm; I need to get his fever down. Then I want you to go on and get ready for bed. I may be up with Dean for a while tonight, but I don't want you to worry. Understand?"
Sam, for some reason John couldn't explain, still looked slightly nervous, but he nodded his head at his father's instructions and hurried into the house. John got out and opened the back door of the Impala, reaching down to pick up his fevered and delirious child before carrying him into the safety of the house.
Once upstairs, John began to undress Dean, a feat not easily accomplished on a tall seventeen year old, and one that was sure to embarrass the boy once he felt better. He stripped his son down to his underwear before lifting him up again to carry him into the bathroom, where Sammy had the water waiting. Dean whimpered slightly as John lowered him carefully into the water. "Dad
"I know, champ," said John, brushing the boy's hair away from his unfocused eyes. "You've got a pretty high fever; we've got to try and bring it down. You just relax and let Dad take care of you, alright?
Dean nodded slowly, obviously already exhausted from speaking. "Dad
sorry I didn't tell you
John waited for Dean to finish his thought, but the boy had apparently fallen asleep again, his head lolling against the back of the tub. Confused, John turned to Sam in the hopes that he had understood what Dean was trying to say. "Do you know what Dean wanted to tell me, Sammy? I couldn't make out what he was saying."
Sammy looked uncomfortable, but managed to meet his father's eyes. "He knew he was sick."
John blinked, not quite understanding. "You want to run that by me again, son?"
Sammy took a deep breath. "He knew he was sick. He threw up last night, and he's been feeling weak all day. He knew you wouldn't let him go on the hunt if he told you, so he pretended like everything was fine."
John stared disbelievingly at Sam. "He went into a hunt with a dangerous werewolf knowing that he was too ill to fight it?" He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to make sense of what could have possibly been going through Dean's head when another thought crossed his mind. "And just how did you learn all this, son?"
Sammy gulped at the harsh tone of his father's voice. "He
he told me this afternoon, right before we left," he whispered. "I told him it was a bad idea and he should tell you, but he said no."
"And you decided it wasn't a good idea to inform me of the situation, knowing full well how dangerous your brother made that hunt for all of us?" John asked sternly. Sammy looked scared, but nodded miserably. "Yes, sir."
John gazed at his son for a moment longer before making a decision. "Samuel, go to your room and get into your pajamas. Then I want you to go to my room and stand in the corner. I want you to think about what did happen and what could have happened tonight. Stay there until I come and get you. Is that clear, young man?"
Poor Sammy looked positively terrified at this point, but he nodded quickly and fled from the room. John sighed as he watched him go. It wasn't really Sammy's fault. The kid idolized his big brother and would do anything he asked of him. He was only thirteen and he shouldn't have to be responsible for Dean's mistakes. John had no intention of being overly hard on the boy
he was saving his Mad Dad act for Dean. But he had to make sure that Sam understood how important it was that the boys be honest with him, particularly when it involved something as dangerous as going into a hunt while sick.
First, though, he had to make sure that Dean was going to be alright. He knelt beside the tub and felt Dean's forehead. He still had a fever, but his temperature had definitely gone down since he had been placed in the cool water. John figured that with some Tylenol and a good night's sleep, Dean would be feeling better in the morning. Probably not up to the stern talking-to he was going to get from his father, but better nonetheless. John shook his head, still not believing what Dean had done. He knew what this hunt meant to the kid, but he didn't understand how Dean could think that it was okay to jeopardize his health so he could be included.
John pushed the thoughts from his mind as he shook Dean's shoulder gently. "Hey, champ, I think it's time we got you into bed, huh? Do you think you can climb out of the tub so we can get you dressed?"
Dean opened his eyes again, looking at his father sleepily. "Okay
" he murmured, allowing John to assist him as he climbed clumsily from the tub onto the floor. John proceeded to dry him off and hand him some sleep pants and a t-shirt, turning slightly to allow the boy some privacy. Dean managed to get the pants on, but apparently became exhausted as he made no move to slip into the shirt. John finished dressing him as easily as he could before lifting him in his arms and carrying him to bed, ignoring Dean's soft protests at being carried. Once John had placed Dean on the bed, he produced a couple of Tylenol capsules and a cup of water. He gently urged Dean to take the medicine, and once he had, John tucked his teenage son into bed with a soft kiss to his forehead. Dean closed his eyes as soon as his head hit the pillow, leaving John to deal with his youngest.
Sammy was waiting miserably in the corner, sniffling slightly when John entered the room and sat down on his bed. "Samuel, come here," he said, softly but firmly. Sam shuffled over to his father, staring at the floor. When he was close, John reached out and lifted the boy's chin, forcing him to look him in the eye.
"Why didn't you tell me Dean was sick?" he asked, focusing on his son's tear filled eyes.
Sammy tried to look away, but John tilted his face back to look at him. "He asked me not to. I knew if I told you, he'd be mad at me and you'd be mad at him," Sammy explained. "I knew it was a bad idea, Dad, but I didn't want Dean to get in trouble."
John nodded, understanding fully the bond that his boys shared. "Sammy, I know you love your brother, and you would do anything for him. But do you realize how irresponsible Dean was tonight? We're all damn lucky that none of us were injured or even killed. And I think, deep down, that you knew that even before we left the house this afternoon. Am I right?"
Sammy nodded, looking ashamed and scared. "Alright, then," said John. "Now, what Dean did was not your fault, but not coming to me with the information you had certainly was a mistake. Tonight could have turned out very badly, and you could have prevented it if you had been honest with me. I think you need a reminder about being honest, son."
John didn't even wait for his words to register with Sammy before he had the boy turned over his knee. "Dad, wait! Please, I'm sorry!" Sammy yelped, throwing back his hand in an effort to save his behind. John easily caught his son's wrist and pinned it behind his back. "Not quite sorry enough, little boy," he intoned, before raising his hand high and bringing it down sharply on his Sammy's rear end.
John spanked quickly and firmly, but he knew that this wasn't anywhere near to the worst spanking Sammy had ever received. This spanking was more of a reminder on how to be honest than a punishment, and John wasn't looking to cause the boy too much pain. Still, he spanked Sam over two dozen times before he stopped, resting his hand on his son's warm behind. "Now, do you think you can remember to be honest with me from now on, Samuel?"
He watched as Sammy nodded furiously. "Yes, sir, I promise! I won't ever keep anything from you again!" he sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks
Oh, if only, John thought ruefully. "Alright, then, I think you've been punished enough," he said, lifting his thirteen year old up and placing him on his lap, careful not to touch his injured bottom. Sammy rested his head onto his father's shoulder and cried, feeling very sorry and well-punished. John patted him consolingly on the back, placing a kiss on his forehead. "Hey, it's all right, buddy, it's all over now. I forgive you," he whispered soothingly. Sammy cried for a few minutes more before lifting his head and wiping his eyes. "Dad?"
"Are you gonna spank Dean too?
John gave him a look. "Dean didn't tell me that he was sick and nearly got himself killed in a hunt. What do you think I'm going to do, Sammy?"
Sam nodded, feeling sad for his brother but also just the tiniest bit happy. After all, he had just been spanked for covering Dean's ass. It was only fair for Dean to be punished for what he did. "I'm really sorry I didn't tell you he was sick, Dad," he said.
"I know you are, buddy," John said kindly. "Come on, let's get you in bed. You're going to sleep in here tonight so I can stay up and look after Dean." Sam nodded, and allowed his father to tuck him in and place another kiss on his forehead. "I love you, Sammy."
"I love you, too, Dad," Sammy murmured, already falling asleep. John lovingly brushed the boy's unruly bangs out of his face before heading back to keep watch over Dean. He sat down on the bed next to his sick son, and was overcome with love for Dean, but also an intense desire to spank the living daylights out of him for taking such a foolish risk with his life.
John Winchester had spent many long, sleepless nights in the past keeping watch over his children when they were sick, and tonight was no exception. Although Dean's fever had dropped, he was still warm, and he spent half the night whimpering and kicking the covers off in frustration. John got up several times to fetch a cool washcloth to wipe down Dean's damp forehead, and at one point he had to run and grab the trashcan when Dean began to throw up the meager contents of his stomach. Around 4:00 am, Dean finally stopped whimpering and settled into a deep sleep. John kept watch from Sammy's bed until he finally allowed his fatigue and relief that Dean was okay to overtake him and dozed off as well.
All the Winchester's slept soundly until about 10:00 am, when Sammy woke up. He couldn't figure out why he was in his dad's bedroom, until he rolled over on his stomach and winced, the pain of last night's spanking still fresh in his behind. His discomfort was quickly replaced by concern for Dean, and he immediately got out of bed to go check on him. He found Dean asleep in bed, with the covers twisted around him and an uncomfortable frown on his pale face. John was asleep in Sammy's bed, but he opened his eyes as he heard his youngest son approaching.
"Hey, buddy, what's up? You sleep well?" he asked, placing his hand gently on Sam's shoulder.
Sam gave him a look. "You mean other than constantly being woken up when I rolled over onto my butt?" he asked sarcastically.
John chuckled, than gave the thirteen year old a look of his own. "You know perfectly well that you deserved what you got, young man."
"Yeah, I know," Sam replied reluctantly. "Hey, speaking of people getting what they deserve
is Dean feeling any better?"
John raised his eyebrows. "I am the one who decides what Dean deserves, just like I decided what you deserved last night. That being said, he was doing much better when he fell asleep last night, but it is time for him to take some more medicine. Why don't you go grab a shower, and then get yourself something to eat? Then maybe you can come back up here and spend some time with Dean if he's awake."
"Okay, Dad," said Sam, hurrying to obey his father. John watched him leave the room. He really is a good kid, he thought to himself. He felt a slight twinge of guilt for spanking Sammy last night, but he pushed the thought from his mind quickly. Dishonesty was not something that he could tolerate. The lesson had been firmly applied to Sammy's behind hours earlier, and was soon going to be applied to his older son's backside as well. With that thought fresh in his mind, John climbed out of bed and went to check on Dean.
"Hey, champ," he said softly, placing his hand on Dean's forehead. Dean opened his eyes blearily.
"Dad," he whispered, his voice hoarse and slightly shaky. "Am I in trouble?"
John was a little taken aback by the question. He hadn't planned on lecturing Dean just yet, and he certainly wasn't going to spank the boy until he was well enough to take it. However, letting Dean worry about whether or not he was in trouble probably wouldn't be great for his recovery, so it couldn't hurt to talk about things now.
John sat down on the bed next to Dean, his hand still cooling his son's warm forehead. "Why would you think you are in trouble, son?" he asked quietly.
Dean looked into John's eyes, the guilt evident on his wan features. 'I lied to you when you asked if I was alright
I hadn't been feeling well since the night before. I know I should have told you, but I wanted to go on the hunt so badly. And I was so stupid I could have gotten us all killed. I'm really sorry, Dad."
John sighed, feeling an overwhelming sense of love for Dean and pride for him for admitting his mistakes. "First of all, you are not stupid," John said firmly. "If you weren't lying here with a fever I'd smack your butt for even thinking that, and if you ever say it again you are guaranteed a trip over my knee. Just because you made some bad choices, that does not make you stupid. You hear me, young man?"
Dean nodded, although he looked unsure. "Yes, sir, I understand."
"Good," replied John. "Now, as for the other things, you are exactly right. You know better than to lie to me, Dean. I don't care how much you wanted to go on this hunt, lying to me in order to go was extremely irresponsible and dishonest of you. And while we're on the subject of hunting, what is one of my main rules?"
Dean lowered his eyes, looking slightly ashamed. "Know your limitations and only hunt when you know you can handle it."
"Exactly. And exactly how did you plan on taking out a fully grown werewolf when you were weak and feverish?" All of the anger John felt last night was returning, and he began to raise his voice. "Do you have any idea what almost happened last night? I nearly had a heart attack when that thing was standing over you, Dean! You could have been killed last night, and Sammy and I could have been hurt too! How could you endanger all of our lives like that?!"
Dean winced at John's harsh words, and John felt guilty as he watched the tears well up in his usually stoic son's eyes. Damn my temper, he cursed. He knew Dean understood what he did was wrong, that he would rather die than put his father and brother in danger, and here he was screaming at him for it. He wanted to discipline the boy, not break his spirit. John took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
"Dean," he said softly, in a much kinder voice. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."
Dean shook his head tearfully. "No, you should be yelling at me, Dad. You're right, I totally screwed up, and I deserve to be yelled at."
"No, Dean," John replied kindly, brushing away Dean's tears with thumb. "I yelled because I was scared. I know you understand what you did was wrong. You owned up to it already, and I'm proud of you for that."
Dean attempted to smile at his father, and John returned the smile, before changing it to a stern frown.
"However, just because I'm proud of you for admitting your mistakes, it does not excuse what you did. You lied to me and deliberately disobeyed a hard and fast rule that you have known for years. You took a dangerous risk with your life last night and I intend to make sure it never happens again."
The guilty look on Dean's face was instantly replaced with a look of extreme nervousness. "You
you're gonna spank me, aren't you?" he asked uncertainly.
"Damn right I'm gonna spank you," John growled. "And trust me, it will be a spanking you remember for a long time."
Dean's eyes were as wide as saucers, and he felt like he might throw up again. Still, he knew that John was right. "I know I deserve to be spanked, Dad, and I'm ready," he said, lifting the covers off and attempting to stand.
John grabbed his shoulder and gently pushed Dean back into bed, pulling the covers back up to his chin. "No way, champ. You've still got a fever, and you're pretty weak
much too weak to be taking a spanking from your old man. It won't hurt you to dwell on your punishment for a day or two anyway."
Dean wished he could get it all over with
the only thing worse than a spanking itself was waiting for one. However, he was still feeling pretty sick and he knew John was right. He nodded at his father, who handed him some Tylenol and a cup of water, before going to get another cool washcloth for his forehead.
It had been a while since either Dean or Sam had been sick, and although John was concerned about Dean's health, he felt a small sense of comfort at being able to care for his stubborn son. After a morning spent sitting next to Dean, cooling his forehead and rubbing his back, John decided that it was time for Dean to get in the tub again to try and bring the fever down some more. Dean was much more alert than he had been the night before, and it wasn't easy to get him into the tub again with his father in the room, even with his briefs on. It took so long to convince Dean that this would help his fever that John thought he would have to swat him, sick or not, but Dean finally got the message and reluctantly got into the tub. After John got Dean redressed and back into bed, he took his temperature and discovered that Dean's fever was almost gone. "Looks like you're gonna be feeling like your old self by morning, champ," John said.
Dean grimaced at the prognosis. Great, he thought. And by afternoon I'll be wishing I was attacked by that werewolf when I'm lying here with a sore ass. "Dad, can Sam come up here for awhile? I'm getting pretty bored
maybe we could work on his poker game."
John nodded, not missing the look on Dean's face when he heard he was going to better in the morning. He really hated punishing both of his sons, and he wanted to indulge Dean for as long as he could before he had to be the strict disciplinarian. "You take two more Tylenol and I'll go get Sammy. Deal?"
'Yes, sir," Dean replied, and John left the room and headed downstairs to get his youngest. The three Winchesters spent a long afternoon playing poker, stopping only a few times so John could check to make sure Dean's fever wasn't climbing again. That evening, John decided it would be safe for Dean to have some chicken noodle soup. When Dean kept it down, both father and son resigned themselves to what would occur the next morning. John tucked Dean into bed that night like he hadn't since he was a little boy. "Good night, champ," he said softly. "I'll see you in the morning."
That's what I'm afraid of, Dean thought, already feeling the sting in his bottom. Still, he was enjoying the extra attention he was getting from his dad, and he didn't even shy away when John placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Good night, Dad," he said, snuggling under the covers and trying not to think about the morning. John looked down at his son, filled with relief that he was going to be alright, yet filled with dread about the parental task he would have to perform the next morning. He decided to hit the hay early, knowing the neither he nor his son would sleep very well until the punishment was over and this whole nasty ordeal had been put behind them.
When Dean woke up the next morning, John was sitting beside his bed watching him. He didn't look angry, but he looked sternly resolute, and Dean gulped, wishing that he still had a fever. "I guess you've decided I'm well enough, huh Dad?" he asked nervously.
John gave him a curt nod. "We've already discussed this son, and I think you know what you did was wrong. I don't see any reason to drag this out for both of us. You compromised your health and put this entire family in danger, and I'm gonna make sure it never happens again. Go get me my hairbrush."
Dean's eyes widened in shock at his father's words. Getting spanked wasn't exactly a new experience for Dean, but John rarely used the hairbrush on either of his boys. Dean knew that he had screwed up royally, but this put things into a completely different perspective. "The hairbrush?" he whispered. "But Dad
"Dean," said John, cutting his son off with a stern glare. "Do you actually want a spanking before the spanking? I gave you an order, son, now go get me my hairbrush."
Dean, with a look of positive horror in his eyes, swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked slowly into his father's room. The hairbrush was sitting on John's dresser, and Dean picked it up, vaguely wondering how something this small could scare him so much. He took a deep breath, resolving to take his punishment like a man, and walked back into his bedroom. He handed the hairbrush to John, who was now sitting on the side of Dean's bed. John took the hairbrush and set it behind him before taking Dean's wrist in his hand and drawing him over to his side. Looking up at his son, John saw no sign of the rebellious teen whose stubborn nature had gotten him into this position. The shame and worry in Dean's face only showed a scared little boy who was about to get spanked. Not wanting to waste any more time, John pulled Dean's arm until the Dean was draped across his lap, his upper body and legs both supported by the bed.
"You know I don't like having to punish you or Sammy, Dean," John said, resting his hand on Dean's soon to be warm backside. "But the other night, you did one of the worst things you could ever do. You went on a hunt when you knew you were too sick to handle it, and you nearly got yourself killed. You are never to compromise your health like that again, do you hear me?"
"Yes, sir," mumbled Dean, his face buried in his arms. He worked hard to control his uneven breathing and calm himself down as he imagined he was anywhere else.
With that acknowledgement, John wrapped his fingers in the waistband of Dean's pajama pants and tugged them to his knees, eliciting a small whimper from Dean. Not wanting to prolong his son's agony, John immediately began to spank the bare behind in front of him. He spanked hard and fast, driving the message home to Dean that nothing was more important than his life. Dean was quiet at first, as was his tendency during a spanking, but before long John had turned his behind and upper thighs a cherry red, and small sounds of discomfort were finding their way out of Dean's mouth. As John placed a few well-aimed swats along the fleshiest part of his son's bottom, Dean started to shift, then stiffened as he caught himself. That was John's cue that it was time to move on to the next part of the spanking. He picked up the hairbrush behind him and began to speak to his son.
"Dean, what upsets me the most about this whole ordeal is the fact that you lied to me. I asked you numerous times before the hunt if you were feeling well, and every time you lied straight to my face when you assured me you were fine. You know better than to lie to me under any circumstances, and you are never again to lie to me about anything concerning your health. This next part of the spanking should help you remember that."
John didn't even wait for Dean to respond before raising the hairbrush high and smacking it down on Dean's right cheek. Dean had been fairly still throughout the spanking so far, but one smack from the brush caused him to start so violently that he nearly fell off John's lap. John wrapped his arm tightly around Dean's waist before landing another smack, this time on Dean's left cheek. Dean was beginning to breathe more heavily, and John landed the next two swats quickly, both times causing Dean to give a small cry of pain.
It never seemed as bad at first, but as the swats built up, landing all over his reddened bottom and then building on top of one another, Dean couldn't keep the tears and whimpers from escaping. By the time John had delivered the eighth swat of the brush, Dean was crying openly and begging him to stop. "Please, Dad! I'm sorry! I'll never lie to you again, I swear!"
John sighed deeply. "I hope not, Dean. I really hope not. Because I don't want to be having this conversation again." And with that, John gave Dean four final swats, two to the middle of his butt and two to the crease between his bottom and his thighs. Dean was sure that they were the four hardest swats he had ever received in his life, and he broke down sobbing despondently. John threw the hairbrush behind him on the bed and immediately began to rub Dean's back, trying to calm his son. "Shhh, Dean, it's all over now. You took that really well, Dean, it's all over and you're going to be just fine. It's all over, Dean," John said soothingly, rubbing Dean's back the entire time. After a few minutes, Dean's sobs turned into pitiful sniffling, and John carefully adjusted his pajama bottoms before turning Dean over on his lap. Dean quickly laid his head on John's shoulder, still crying softly, as John rocked him, making soothing noises and stroking his hair. Eventually, Dean quieted down, his tears spent, and John tilted his face to look him in the eye.
"I'm sorry I had to be so harsh with you, Dean," John said softly, wiping the tears from Dean's face with the same hand that had so thoroughly spanked him moments before. "But our job is dangerous enough without you trying to be a superhero when you're sick, you got me?"
Dean nodded. "I'm sorry I let you down, Dad," he said, hanging his head. John placed his hand on the Dean's cheek and tilted his face again, making sure that Dean was looking at him before he spoke.
"Dean, you have never let me down," John said firmly. "You made a mistake, and you've been punished for it, and you are forgiven. You are an amazing son, and I love you. Don't you ever forget that, you hear?"
"I love you too, Dad," Dean replied, smiling through his tears. It wasn't often that Dean showed emotion, but when he did, he truly meant it. Father and son sat together for a few moments more before Dean began squirming to get up. John released him, and Dean jumped to his feet. John followed suit, and pulled Dean into a hug, placing a kiss on top of his blonde head.
"What do you say I go whip you and Sammy up some pancakes, champ?" John asked, pulling back from his son. "It's been a couple of days since you had a decent meal, and you must be starving."
"Pancakes sound great," Dean said enthusiastically. Then he added, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, "Can I bring the hairbrush down with me?"
John raised an eyebrow. "Why in the world would you want to even look at that hairbrush after getting your butt blistered with it?"
"Well, I am feeling better, but there's always a chance I'll throw up again," Dean replied innocently. "I figured it might make a good target if I can't make it to the bathroom in time."
John rolled his eyes and chuckled, glad to see that the spanking hadn't done any damage to his son's sarcastic attitude. He put his arm around Dean's shoulder, and the two walked out of the room to go make breakfast, happy to have both the sickness and the spanking behind them.
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