Fandom: SPN Gen
Summary: Post S2, Sam is obsessed with finding a way to save Dean.
Warning: Language, and Spanking as a form of discipline.
Author Notes: Written for Jen’s (ficwriterjet ) FiftyPrompts challenge. Prompt #: 9 – Recklessness. It’s kind of angsty, sorry. AU/OOC obviously. The boys will never be this ‘touchy feely’ in canon lol.
They did it.
They wasted the yellow-eyed sonofabitch, for good. And they saw their dad, escaping from the fiery depths of hell, saving Dean’s life one last time, and finally saying goodbye, for good. Someone, maybe Bobby, had been bold enough to suggest that a teeny tiny bit of celebration was definitely in order. Sam had glared at him for a whole six seconds. Dean, on the other hand…
Life turned into a never-ending celebration for the older Winchester. Girls, booze, pool, poker, hunting every big bad monstery thing he could find, more girls and more booze and more hunting. Oh and IHOP. Dean made it his stretch goal to eat at every single one of the sixty thousand something IHOPs in the country. Stretch goal considering he only had one year, correction… three hundred and forty two days left to do it.
“It’s not funny, Dean!!”
Sam slammed the heels of his palms against the small table he was sitting at, almost toppling it over. Pushed his chair back with a jolt and that did fall. Then stomped his way out of the little motel room ignoring his brother calling after him.
Dean swallowed hard, fighting to stop the quivering of his lower lip that surfaced every time he found himself alone. Of course it wasn’t funny. Nothing about the way their lives had turned out was ever remotely funny. But that didn’t stop Dean from finding humor in the simplest of things. It was what kept him sane, what had kept him going for twenty-four years. That, and the fact that he had a little brother to take care of, and a grieving father’s ambition to support.
Dean picked up the chair and pushed it back in place by the table, looking at Sam’s laptop screen as he passed it. He sighed, of course the kid had been researching, and getting nowhere. His throat started to close up with the guilt he felt for putting Sam through this. Guilt yes, because hadn’t he cursed and hated their dad for doing the same thing to him only last year?
The tables had turned, and he understood now why John had to do it. Dean had now been on both ends of the wretched deal-making habit that clearly ran through this family. And while he knew he had had absolutely no other choice if he wanted Sam back, he also realized how Sam must be freaking out… crumbling under a sense of guilt he didn’t deserve, with the clock merrily ticking away and leads that led to nowhere and research that turned up nothing useful… yeah. Dean wished he knew how to protect his brother from it all.
Sam was not eating properly, and had started to lose weight. He wasn’t interested in working out or even running, which he used to love. He had to be reminded to hit the shower (“You stink, kiddo.”) or change his clothes (“Hobo’s back in fashion?”) or do any of the regular things one is supposed to. He’d have nightmares and not sleep more than two hours every night. He wouldn’t come out with Dean and instead preferred to spend all his time at libraries or working on his laptop. The only time Sam would actually show some spark of interest or involvement was during the hunts, but they haven’t had many cases of late.
Dean frowned as he squeezed that quaking lower lip of his again with two fingers. Hated himself for having been so self-absorbed these past few weeks, even though anyone would say it was perfectly understandable given his situation. Anyone, who wasn’t a big brother like Dean, that is.
“I’m so sorry Sammy, I haven’t been there for you. But I’m gonna fix it. I promise.”
Dean sighed and got up, picking up his jacket and preparing to go look for his distraught brother. But he didn’t have to.
Sam stormed out of the motel and kept walking but couldn't get beyond the edge of the parking lot. His thoughts were hopelessly scattered and not for the first time, he wished Dean had left him for dead. That would have been better than this… life of never-ending mental torture. They had no leads, no clues on how to get his brother out of the fucking deal. A whole month had gone by and he had nothing. Absolutely nothing. How was he supposed to live on knowing his brother had died for him?
Sam had even tried to summon the crossroads demon with his own photo in the box but the cunning bitch that she was, she refused to take his call. Apparently Dean’s soul was a great deal more precious than his. Sure why not, bleeding heart and all that shit. Not that Dean needed to know any of it. He would kill Sam (no really, he would) if he found out, especially since he’d given Sam strict instructions not to try it.
“Why, damn it? Why do you always get to be the fucking martyr?”
Sam had screamed at him, flinging the original Grimoire Book of Shadows to the farthest wall. Bobby wouldn’t have been too happy to see that. And neither was Dean but for reasons completely unrelated to any book.
“You do this Sam… and you’d be making a mockery of me, and a mockery of my whole damn fucking life! Is that what you want?”
Sam winced at the memory of that argument, and hurriedly wiped away the tears escaping from his eyes. He stood still, barely breathing for a whole minute before turning to walk back to the room. He would need the car to go to the library, there was this book he saw last night but didn’t get the time to go through before Dean came and yanked him out of there. His brother was obviously putting on his brave bad face, pretending he wanted to make the most of the days he had left. But Sam knew the truth.
His big brother was scared. And the only way he could stop thinking about his impending fate was by keeping himself busy with the hunts and the drinking and women, and that was all fine by Sam. At least it kept Dean out of his hair, so Sam could concentrate on what he needed to do. Dean might think that it was all worth it, worth Sam’s life but he didn’t think so. Sam was going to get Dean out of this mess, no matter what. God knows he’d do it, even if it was the last thing he ever did.
When he reached their room, Dean was just shucking into his jacket, apparently intending to go out for the night. He avoided eye contact and headed towards his laptop, picking it up and slinging his satchel filled with Bobby’s tomes over his shoulder.
“You heading out?”
“To the library.”
“Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”
Sam frowned, surprised how easily Dean had acquiesced this time. But he didn’t comment on it and they both got into the Impala.
Ten minutes later, Sam watched as Dean deliberately missed the right turn that would have led them to the library, and he groaned out loud.
“Dude!” Too tired to say anything else, he just huffed and glared at his brother.
Dean smirked but his eyes were dead serious. “You’re taking a break tonight. Have a beer with me.”
“I don’t want beer Dean, just… let me out here. I’ll walk it.”
Dean sped up, clearly not intending to give up. “Sammy come on, feels like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
Sam snorted. “Dude…”
Again, too exhausted to remind Dean that they were still rooming together, that they were practically in each other’s face all the time. Dean’s brows furrowed with concern, the kid was obviously so fatigued he couldn’t even bring himself to complain. Dean sighed, he knew talking really wasn’t his forte, and that’s where the alcohol came in. It would help the brothers offload some of the things they’d been carrying inside, bearing down on their hearts. And a little intoxication would also maybe help Sam sleep a little better than he had in a long time.
“One beer Sam. Then you can go, do your thing, I won’t stop you. Be a sport, kid… please?”
Sam just sighed, and mutely nodded. One beer, he could handle one beer…
Four beers down, Dean was feeling a whole lot happier than when he’d woken up this morning. Sophia, the tall, hot brunette leaning against him by the bar had a spunky Puerto Rican accent and an insane sense of humor that only got better with every beer she chugged down. Oh yeah, a beer woman… Dean was sure he was falling in love.
She whispered sexily as she nuzzled behind his ear. Dean placed his order for four tequila shots and turned toward her, smiling back.
“Yes Ms. Benitez?”
And she was still standing too close so their lips collided. They started laughing but it didn’t stop them from kissing, for the very first time that night. A minute later she pulled away to take another swig from her beer. Wiped her lips and smiled at him shyly.
“How would you like to come home with me tonight?”
Score… Dean smiled. Licking his lips he dove in for another kiss, longer and deeper this time, proclaiming his willingness loud and clear. Now all he had to do was figure out where Sam was at and make sure the kid got home all right. He might as well give him the keys to the car since Dean was in no position to drive anyway. All his efforts to get Sam to chill had been a washout.
But tomorrow’s a new day, he told himself. He would try again tomorrow.
Dean looked back towards their table and caught Sam’s eye. Sam nodded and stood up with his hands buried in his jacket pockets. Started walking towards Dean at his behest and that was when things, as they say, got shot to hell and back.
Sam didn’t even make it through the one beer. He sat at their table in the corner barely touching the cheese tortillas and taking minimal sips from his beer, biding his time. Dean had spent the first twenty minutes talking utter nonsense, eyeballing the chicks and trying to get Sam interested in one of them, and in general doing the whole male bonding thing with his little brother but nothing stuck. Sam brooded and Dean drank.
It had become clear the moment Dean set his eyes on the tall Latina in the little black dress that Sam wasn’t getting a ride back to the library from his brother. So instead, he waited for Dean to get drunk enough to agree to let Sam take the Impala. That way everyone would get what they wanted. Cool.
With no intentions to get drunk because he had to go back to work, Sam quickly lost interest in the Corona, opting instead to stare blankly at the center of the table and popping his leg up and down unconsciously. He didn’t even notice the very loud and rowdy biker types who entered the joint, one half heading for the pool tables and the other straight to the bar. Felt a slight prickle at the back of his head that made him turn and sure enough, Dean was looking right at him.
Heeding his brother’s signal, Sam stood up and listlessly made his way to the bar. He was barely nine feet away when his right bony shoulder forcefully thudded into someone, one of the bikers.
“Watch where you’re going fuck-face!”
The guy was obviously drunk and even if he wasn’t, he just looked like one of those obnoxious kinds that love to pick up fights for no reason whatsoever. Dean straightened up, noticing the mild altercation but he wasn’t too concerned because hey, it was Sam, after all. Sam – his very polite, suave almost-became-a-lawyer brother who could easily talk his way out of a deadlock. Dean could already see him make his puppy dog face, hunch over just a bit to appear non-threatening despite his giant size and apologize smoothly. And then it’d be over just like that.
Except that’s not what happened.
Dean watched, his eyes narrowing out as Sam slowly turned towards the other man and without a single word or reason, socked the guy in the face.
Shots and Sophia forgotten, Dean pushed his way through the crowd to his brother just in time to see the man holding up his bleeding nose and cursing at the top of his lungs at Sam. And then his friends came over to back him up. It was the brothers against twelve of them. And it wasn’t pretty.
“What the hell were you thinking, Sam?”
Sam hugged himself and crouched in his side of the car as close to the door and as far away from Dean as possible. He didn’t reply.
“So he was a little rude to ya. Doesn’t mean you go ahead and break his nose! For God’s sake there were twelve of them! What if I wasn’t there, huh?”
“Sam, are you listening to me?”
Sam swallowed but didn’t turn to look at his brother. “I can take care of myself.”
Dean snorted and kept driving. “Yeah I can see that. You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping. All you do is sit and stare at that stupid computer and now this? For God’s sake Sammy you’re spiraling out of control! You’re getting reckless, little brother.”
This time Sam did turn vehemently to face his brother. “Maybe I am, so what? I don’t tell you how to live your life so stay out of mine! Just mind your own business Dean.”
Dean slammed the brakes. The screeching lasted a whole five seconds as he veered to stop at the side of the road. Sam winced, knowing his brother was about to really lay it into him now. But when Dean spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper.
“You are my business Sammy. Hell you’re all I care about. You should know that by now.”
Sam wanted to cry. Of course he fucking knew. That was the whole damn problem wasn’t it? Dean’s voice was full of a certain desperation that he wasn’t ready to deal with right now. Bright-eyed and severely exhausted, he just turned to look out of his window again. Feeling so small and reprimanded. Guilty, but not ready to give in just yet.
“You’re the one who wanted me to come to the bar with you. I wanted to go to the fucking library.”
The silence stretched, long enough for Sam to start fidgeting and trying to steal a quick glance at his brother.
“You’re right. It is my fault.” Dean’s voice boomed, strong as always, causing Sam to start as he hurriedly looked away again. “I should have taken care of this weeks ago.”
And he started the car once more. There was so much Dean wanted to say, but he realized this was not the time or the place for it. Making up his mind about what needed to be done and very soon, Dean pulled back into lane and headed for their motel room.
Sam noticed his brother’s jaw set in a firm expression he didn’t much like, and he knew it was far from over. Gulped soundlessly, and hugged himself a little harder. He didn’t know what Dean intended to do, all he knew was he had to get back to his research. Still half an hour to go before the library closed for the day.
“You can forget about the library Sammy.”
Sam jumped, looked over at Dean who simply nodded at him. His eyes were now calm, and his voice was eerily steady.
“You wouldn’t wanna sit on those hard wooden chairs for a couple of days, at least.”
Sam spent the rest of the ride in a state of absolute, gobsmacked shock. No way… his brother couldn’t… wouldn’t… surely he didn’t mean… but it’s been years since he was… no way. No fucking way.
For the first time in three weeks, Sam was not thinking about ancient tomes or spells or demons or death. For the first time in three weeks, Sam was actually concerned for himself. His butt, to be more specific, and the anticipation of what was about to happen created an excessive awareness of that particular part of his body. He squirmed in his seat reminded of all the times he’d found himself upended over his brother’s or father’s knees for a good old-fashioned lesson in humility. Winced, because damn it he was too old for that. Dean couldn’t… he wouldn’t… surely he didn’t mean…
The consciousness spread to other regions of his body and brought to mind a few more things he wasn’t aware of until this very moment. One, his throat was seriously parched and maybe it was because of fear, of what was looming over his head, but it was probably more because he hadn’t had a drink of water in hours. Two, there were serious butterflies in his stomach, although maybe it was a good thing he’d skipped dinner because he could have thrown up right the hell now.
And three… he hadn’t done his laundry in three weeks and was out of underwear. He was going commando. Tonight of all nights! Sam grimaced, hoping Dean wouldn’t want to pull his jeans down for the…
What the hell was he saying?
He couldn’t let Dean spank him period! He had no right, no reason to! Okay so he threw the first punch and basically provoked the bikers into a fight, but he wasn’t really thinking when he did it. The guy was an asshole, someone had to put him in his place. It wasn’t his fault the little lesson in etiquette had quickly snowballed into a major bar brawl and the owner had almost called the cops. And what if the cops had turned up? What if Agent Henricksen had caught wind of their involvement?
Okay, maybe he did deserve it. But he was not going to let it happen. Not now, he was twenty-three years old damn it! Dean couldn’t… he wouldn’t… no way.
Dean was parking in front of their little cottage when Sam started wondering if he could make a run for it.
“Don’t even. You’ll only make it worse kiddo, I still have dad’s belt remember?”
Sam grimaced, that belt did not associate itself with happy memories. Slowly he got out of the car and un-dug his hands out of his pockets to catch just as Dean threw the door keys at him. Opened the door but hesitated. He felt Dean’s hand settling in the small of his back, and somehow felt comforted, even though that was probably not the hand’s intention.
Dean closed the door behind them and then it was straight to business. The four beers were long forgotten, evaporated out of his system the moment he saw the twelve bastards ganging up on his brother. He walked over to the bed and sat at the edge.
“Come on Sammy.”
Sam hyperventilated, standing at the edge of the room as far away from Dean as possible. The bathroom door was nearby, he could always dive in and lock himself in. Not come out until… until…
“You know that won’t work Sam. Give it up. Come here.”
“Dean, please… I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think you are. I don’t think you even realize what’s going on here.”
“Then… te-tell me. Talk to me. Let’s talk okay?”
Dean shook his head, biting back a tiny smile because God it was so easy to reduce his Sasquatchian brother to the innocent but clever little twelve-year old he once was.
“I tried talking, at the bar, remember? You gave me the silent treatment, like you couldn’t hear me. Like I wasn’t even there.”
Sam gulped. “Look I’m sorry about that. I just,” he looked down at his toes, one hand gripping the edge of his study table tightly and the other hand fisted in the side of his own jeans. “I have been distracted lately.”
“Damn right you have. You’re getting way too careless for your own good and for mine. You’ve had this coming for awhile now kiddo.”
Dean didn’t know if Sam was even conscious of the fact that he’d turned on the dreaded puppy eyes, all he knew was he had to steel his heart and not give in.
“Sam… if I have to come get you…”
Sam didn’t move, just stared at his shoes like he was seeing them for the very first time. Dean stood up, came over and grabbed the petulant boy by his right elbow.
The Winchesters weren’t hurt in the fight. They wouldn’t be Winchesters if they were. But there had been a couple of times Sam let one of the guys get the drop on him and he got punched in his gut quite painfully. Dean was mindful of that, which is why he chose the bed instead of the traditional hard-backed chair. He pulled Sam to the bed, sat down again and held Sam in front of him between his legs. Which is when Sam found his tongue again.
“Not the jeans, please?”
Dean quickly pulled his brother’s jacket off him and undid his jeans because he didn’t want to stretch it any longer than necessary, and positioned Sam across himself so that his upper torso was on the bed, his butt on Dean’s lap and his feet rested on the floor. Dean noticed the kid didn’t struggle too much. Thought maybe Sam was aware of how much he needed this himself. He pulled the jeans down, not surprised by the lack of boxers and rested his hand on the pale, quivering bottom.
“Dean, please don’t…”
Sam’s voice was so small, so lost… Dean almost gave in. Almost, before he bit his lip and reminded himself why this needed to be done. Gripped Sam’s waist with his left arm to secure him and raised his right hand.
The first smack landed square on the crest of his butt and Sam was too stunned to react. A quick volley of swats followed and the pain and heat built up pretty quickly because Dean was not taking it easy on him this time. Sam squirmed and twisted this way and that to get away but it was impossible as Dean’s strong arm held him in place. Sam realized how emaciated he must be because Dean was able to hold him down almost effortlessly. At some point, his brother picked him up and deposited him further upwards on the bed so that his feet dangled a couple of inches above the floor, giving Dean better access to his sensitive sit-spot. That’s when he couldn’t hold the yelps back anymore.
“What you did today was reckless and irresponsible Sam. I’d expect this of me back when I was sixteen maybe, but not of you. And especially not now, when we need to lay low.”
“Ow! I’m sorry!”
“Are you? Do you realize what your little temper tantrum at the bar could cost us? You don’t want me to spend the last of my days in the can do you?”
The sobs broke through then.
“Do you Sammy?”
“Of course not, damn you! I just… I didn’t…”
Sam struggled even harder, threw a hand back to block the spanking hand but Dean just caught it, twisted it behind Sam’s back and held it there. Calmly he continued smacking the tender cheeks that were now a bright shade of crimson.
“You weren’t thinking at all were you? Just like you haven’t been thinking about anything except the stupid deal. You don’t think about yourself. You don’t even care what I’m doing, where I’m at… so long as I’m out of the way of your fucking research.”
Sam sobbed even harder. “Dean no… that’s…”
He wanted to say that was not true. Because Dean was all he cared about. But clearly he hadn’t been showing it so well lately and especially not tonight. Picking up a fight and bringing undue attention to the brothers, his unwillingness to talk or spend time with his brother… and that’s when it struck him. If Sam couldn’t get Dean out of the deal, these were potentially the last days that Sam had with his brother. Days that he was spending buried under books and research, too busy to so much as acknowledge Dean’s presence.
Sam broke then. He was torn; he needed more than anything to find a way to save Dean. And at the same time he wanted to spend time with his brother. But if he was so fucking smart, why the hell had he not found a way to do both?
Dean paused in his spanking and rubbed Sam’s back over his short tee shirt. He wanted to end this, he really did. But he needed to make sure Sam understood.
“Don’t get me wrong buddy. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. God knows I don’t wanna die and go to hell.”
Sam stuffed a fist into his mouth to suppress his need to wail, his pain and fears morphing together into one horrific monster that was choking the very breath out of his lungs. Dean just kept massaging his back soothingly, running one trembling hand through the back of Sam’s unruly hair.
“But I can’t have you killing yourself in the process, Sammy. You’ve got yourself holed up day and night trying to figure it out, not taking breaks, and just getting more and more frustrated. That’s what it was tonight, wasn’t it? That guy challenged you and all that pent-up frustration just poured out of you, in the form of a punch.”
Sam mumbled something, which sounded suspiciously like “It felt fucking good.” And Dean swatted him again, hard.
“Oww!! Yeah, I’m sorry… that’s what happened…”
Dean shook his head and sighed. “Damn it Sam. You could have been seriously hurt! If the price is your well-being, then it’s too damn high Sammy. I don’t want it.”
As if Sam needed more reasons to cry. He pushed his hand that lay twisted behind him towards Dean’s and Dean squeezed right back.
“I’m so sorry…”
“Shhh… I know buddy, and we’re almost done here.”
“No, Dean please! It hurts, please no more!”
But it was a pointless plea. Sam braced himself, knowing his brother always made the last few swats the hardest and Dean didn’t disappoint. He delivered six strong swats, one on each buttock alternately and by the sixth one Sam was pleading for mercy again. It broke his heart to do it, but Dean blocked out Sam’s whimpers and smacked his sit-spot four times before he ended the session.
Carefully, he pulled up the jeans knowing that even with an additional layer of the missing boxers there was no way it wouldn’t scratch. He turned Sam over on his lap and the younger boy was quick to sit up and bury his face in his big brother’s chest, sobbing hard.
“I’m… sorry… De-Dean.”
Dean bit his lower lip starting to quiver all over again. He shifted and pulled up his legs to the bed so Sam’s body lay held between his broad chest and his folded thighs. Gently he rocked his little brother, needing the comfort perhaps as much as Sam did.
“Shhh… it’s okay. It’s over.”
Sam continued to snivel a while, although his sobs had subsided and he wasn’t clutching at Dean’s shirt anymore like it was the only thing keeping him from drowning in his sea of misery. He told himself he ought to be offended by all the damned ground rules Dean was laying out for him, like he was a little boy again. But he wasn’t. The boundaries made him feel safer, if anything, and for the first time in three weeks, Sam believed that he wasn’t alone.
He was still going to save Dean; nothing could stand in the way of that. But he knew now he didn’t have to do it alone. That he had Dean, as always, to depend on when the going got tough, to talk to when he needed to hash things out of his busy head. So no, he didn’t mind the rules… for now.
“Alright, let’s have ‘em.”
Sam sighed, repeating his brother’s words slowly in a voice muffled by Dean’s flannel that he absolutely refused to relinquish.
“No skipping meals. No skipping workouts. At least four…”
Sam huffed, knowing there was no arguing with Dean right now but he intended to push back eventually. And boy, wasn’t that going to be fun.
“Six hours of sleep every night.”
“That’s right. You’ve been running on nothing but freak adrenaline kid. Time to give it a rest. I need your A-game for the party of demons we still gotta crash. Remember them?”
Sam pouted, offended that Dean would think he could forget. But then again, he’d been so obsessed with the crossroads bitch it was easy to see why Dean would assume that. He folded his legs so his knees were digging into his chest and burrowed deeper into Dean’s shirt. He was going to be humongously embarrassed about this in the morning, but he didn’t much care for anything but his brother’s eternal body warmth right now.
Sam yawned, “Stop working when Dean tells you to.”
“Dean tells who to?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Me to.”
“Good boy,” Dean smirked, knowing it was not going to be easy but prepared to enforce the law just like John would have in the past. Hell, he was going to supervise Sam’s whole life until he started to get it right again by himself. From food to hunts to fucking laundry.
Dean smiled. God knows they were way too old and way too, er, male to be cuddling like this. But ever since Sam had died (and come back), Dean hadn’t been able to stop touching Sam, ever so lightly now and then, just to make sure he was really here, still here. While those fleeting touches meant absolutely nothing to Sam, they’d been an immense source of comfort for Dean. And now this, being able to hold Sam, offer some of that comfort back to Sam when he needed it the most… these were the moments Dean would miss the most when… ah hell. He still had three hundred and forty one days left.
Dean looked down at Sam who had, meanwhile, quietly fallen asleep. Resting peacefully for the first time in what felt like ages. And he’d thought intoxication was supposed to do the trick. Dean bit back a soft chuckle, he knew what to do next time if Sam ever had trouble sleeping again.
*** END ***
A/N: Please let me know what you think?