SAMMY WANTS PBJ

[lady_m_319]

Title:  SAMMY WANTS PBJ

Author:  Lady M

Characters: John, Dean (8), Sam (4)

Scenario:  John spanks Sam

Implements:  Hand.

Rating:  PG-13 for spanking.

Warning:  Parental spanking of minors.  Please don't read if it offends you.

Disclaimer:  Eric Kripke and the CW own all.  I own nothing.



John Winchester, father, mechanic, hunter, enters the sparse dwelling he’s rented.  He chose this house for its covered carport.  He needs to work on the ’67 Impala that represents his family’s home on wheels.

John rubs the worn, stained red rag over the used engine part.  He glances at his eight-year-old seated at the battered kitchen table.  He rinses the part at the kitchen faucet.

“I’m hungry,” Sam Winchester announces from across the room.

“I’ll make you lunch when I’m finished,” John replies.

“I wants PBJ,” four-year-old Sam demands from the couch.

John turns.  He glares at his youngest.  He repeats dryly, “When I’m done.”

“Dean makes me PBJ,” Sam directs.

“Dean is not to leave that chair.  He needs to do his homework.  You can wait, Samuel.”

Dean Winchester shifts uncomfortably on his sore chastised bottom.  He grumbles to himself, “Why’d that teacher have to call dad, anyway?  I’m not that far behind in my work.”

Sam jumps off the couch.  He stomps his small foot.  He balls his chubby hands into tight little fists.  He angrily pounds his fists in a downward motion.  “I wants PBJ,” Sam loudly exclaims.

John wraps the cylinder in the rag.  He rests the rag on the counter top.  He turns towards the insubordinate child.  “That’s enough out of you, young man.  You know the rule about stomping your foot at me.  Plant your nose in that corner.”  John points across the room.

Sam stands his position.  His angry face scrunches.

John takes one threatening step towards his stubborn four-year-old.

Sam scampers urgently towards the designated corner.

“Dean, he’s got five minutes.”  John gathers his part.

“Yes, sir.”

“Sam, mind your brother.”  John Winchester returns outside to the ailing Impala.

Sam peeks away from the corner in the direction of his brother who is struggling over his books.  He takes one step back away from the wall.  He waits.

Dean rubs his open palm over his short hair.  He upends his pencil.  He erases his latest entry on his paper.  His frustration with fractions builds.

Sam steps back, again.  He pauses.  He grins.

“Sammy, you heard dad.  Stay put.”  Dean acknowledges Sam’s movements.

Sam waits motionless in mid-step.

Dean turns a page in his workbook.

The daring youngster takes another step backwards.

Dean bends his head over his worksheet.  He scribbles on his paper.

Sammy scampers the remaining steps to the table Dean is using as a work desk.  He quickly wraps his arms around the back of a chair.  He pulls.  The chair’s heavy and awkward to move.  Sam struggles.  The chair doesn’t budge.

“C’mon Sammy.  Dad said five minutes.  Go back before he comes in and we both get in trouble,” Dean pleads.  His butt already had one go-around this morning with John’s stern palm.  He really doesn’t want another trip over his father’s lap so soon.

“No!  I wants PBJ,” Sam demands.

The boys stare each other down.

“It’s your butt little brother.”  Dean leans over his books ignoring his stubborn little sibling.

Sam scoots under the table.  He drops to rest on his knees. With all his weight he pushes the heavy chair out from under the table.  He glances over the table’s edge to see his brother’s reaction.

Dean remains bent over his workbook.  He raises his eyes to evaluate his brother’s misbehavior.  He nods his head from left to right at his little brother’s outright defiance of his dad’s and his orders to stay in the corner.

Sam stands up.  He scrapes the chair legs the short distance across the yellowed linoleum tiled floor.  He bangs the back of the chair against the chipped counter.  He turns tentatively towards his big brother.

Dean slouches forward over the table top.

Sammy grabs the edge of the chair with his small hand.  He awkwardly lifts his right knee onto the seat.  The determined youth slides the rest of his body onto the oversized chair seat.  He stands.  He reaches across the counter top.  The imp nimbly slides the plastic peanut butter jar to the end of the counter.  He bends down to place the jar on the chair seat.  In one motion he unscrews the top.  The scamp slides the large loaf of bagged bread onto the chair seat.  He bends his knees.  He squats down on the chair.  He realizes he needs jelly.

Sam glances at the refrigerator to his right.  He kneels down.  He backs off the chair.  He hits the floor with a thud.  The unrelenting rascal scurries to the icebox.  He finds the grape jelly on the lowest shelf.  He carries the jar to the chair.  He pauses.  He places the jam on the floor.  He opens the jar.  He grabs the end of the bread bag.  The tyke pulls the large loaf to the floor.  The loaf catches the peanut butter jar and carries it to the floor.  The peanut butter jar hits the jelly container with a thump.  Globs of the oily substance jump onto the linoleum floor.  The jam wobbles out of the jar and mixes with the peanut butter on the floor.  Sammy stares in awe at the mess.  He turns to his big brother for help.

Dean’s not at his perch at the table.

Minutes before:

Dean recognizes that Sam is flirting with trouble, big trouble.  Nothing good can come from the tot’s disobedience.  He quietly slides off his chair.  He disappears outside to the carport.

“Uhm, Dad?”  Dean approaches cautiously.

John’s head is buried under the large hood of his black Chevy.  He pauses his cranking motion to address his son without turning around, “Dean, have you finished your assignments?”

“Um, almost, sir,” Dean responds hesitantly.

“Young man, my instructions were clear.  Your butt was not to leave that chair until you completed your assignments,” John reprimands still facing the engine.  He turns towards the youngster.  “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Dean sighs.  “Dad, Sammy won’t stay in the corner and he won’t listen to me when I tell him to go back.”

“That’s why you left your designated post?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your brother’s been getting a little big for his britches lately.  We need to remind him how to follow orders,” John states matter-of-factly.

Dean’s pretty sure that means little Sammy is going to be taking a dreaded trip over his daddy’s knee.  He shifts uncomfortably with the thought.

“You were right to come get me.”  John wipes his hands on his rag.  “Sammy needs to learn to follow orders, both our orders.  You and I need to teach the little hell raiser a much deserved lesson.  We’re going to handle this a little differently” John states ominously.

“Yes, sir,” Dean responds concernedly.

“Let’s go enlighten that brother of yours.”

Back in the kitchen:

From his hidden perch under the kitchen table Sam hears the outside door open and close.

John roughly holds Dean by the collar of his shirt.  His line of sight quickly focuses on the small head peeking cautiously out from under the table.  “Dean, your orders were to finish your homework.  AND you were not to make PB&J for Sammy.  Look at the mess you made.  Go wait for me in your room.  We need to have a talk about your disobedience.”  John releases Dean.  He points his eldest in the direction of the bedroom.  “You’ll be finishing your school work standing up.”

Sam squeaks when he hears his father’s declaration.  He slaps his small pudgy hands over his mouth.

Dean sullenly marches into the other room.

John walks around the table to the sink to wash his hands.  He hears Sammy shuffle under the table following his movements.  “Dean made a real mess here after I had ordered him not to.  He needs to be punished,” John states out loud to himself.  He decisively tosses the towel that he used to dry his hands onto the counter.  He follows Dean into the bedroom.  John closes the door over but doesn’t shut it tight.

Sam slides his butt to the edge of the table nearest to the bedroom.  He’s secure his hiding place hasn’t been compromised.  Moments pass.  Sam hears the first loud spank of skin hitting skin.

Dean yelps!

Sam listens to another swat.

Dean yells out!

Sammy covers his ears with his small palms.  Tears overflow from his watery eyes.

Another swat collides with its target.

Dean yelps, again!

Sam crawls out from under the table.  He patters to the bedroom door.  He swings it open.  “Daddy, nooo!”  Sam runs to his father.  He stands between his father’s knees.  He throws himself at his daddy’s waist.  “I did it!”  Sam confesses.

“Did what, son?”

“I did the mess.  Don’t spank Dean,” Sam sobs.

John reaches down.  He rubs Sam’s back to calm him.

Sam takes a deep breath.  He looks at his brother sitting on the bed on the outer side of his father’s right thigh.  He tilts his head awkwardly.  “Dean, you’re not crying,” Sam observes bewilderedly.

Dean smiles wryly at his sibling.

“Sammy, do you think Dean was naughty and should be punished?”  John questions mildly.

“No, sir,” Sam glances quickly up at his father’s stern face.

“Why shouldn’t I spank Dean?”

With a little help from John, Sammy climbs onto his father’s left muscular thigh.  His legs dangle between his father’s legs.  Sam intently watches his feet.

“Samuel, why shouldn’t I spank your brother?”  John asks calmly.

“Dean not naughty,” Sam whispers.

“Who was naughty?”  John questions with an edge to his voice.

Sam pauses.

“Samuel, who was naughty?”  John demands sternly.

“Sammy was,” Sam whispers.

“Why were you naughty?”

“I dunno,” Sammy shrugs his shoulders.

John shakes his head remembering he’s interrogating a four-year-old.  “What did you do that was naughty?”

“Uhm,” Sam ponders his response.  He rests his right index finger vertically against his closed lips.

“The little runt didn’t stay in the corner when I told ‘im to,” Dean bursts out.  He abruptly hops off the bed.  He accusingly points his index finger at his little brother.

“Stop,” Sam slides off his father’s thigh.  With both hands he swats at Dean’s finger.

“Dean, let your brother answer.”

Sam sticks his tongue out at Dean.

Dean returns the gesture.

John simultaneously swats the two boys’ bottoms.

“Hey!”

“Ow!”

“Dean, go finish your homework in the kitchen.  I’ll check it when I’m done here.  And Dean, it better be to my satisfaction or you’ll be doing the rest of your studies standing at the counter.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean turns to leave the room.

“Close the door on your way out.”

Dean feels a twinge of sadness, betrayal and guilt in the pit of his stomach.  He regrets setting his little brother up for one of his dad’s talks.  But he’s the oldest.  He’s in charge when dad’s not around.  The kid has to do what he tells him.  Dad’s gonna spank Sammy because he was naughty and needs to learn.  Sammy won’t like it but Dean knows his brother will be okay, later.  He flashes Sammy a sympathetic glance as he exits the room.  Dean cringes as he overhears his father begin his lecture.

“Samuel, you’ve acted naughty today.  I told you no PB&J until I was done with the Impala.”

“Sammy was hungry,” Sam states defiantly.  He shrugs his shoulders and uncaringly tilts his head to the side.

John’s eyebrows furrow.  His eyes glare angrily at the obstinate four-year-old standing between his thighs stubbornly questioning his authority.  “Samuel, you did not follow my orders.  You did not follow Dean’s orders.  You did not stay in the corner.  You were naughty.”

“No!”  Sam pouts.  He crosses his arms.

“No?”

“NO!”  Sam stomps his foot at his father for the second time today.

John abruptly leans Sam against his inner left thigh.  He applies two sharp swats to the youngster’s derriere.  He turns Sam to face him.

Sam’s lower lip juts out.  It quivers slightly.

John firmly grips both of the surprised child’s biceps.  “You were warned about stomping your foot at me.  If there’s a next time you’ll be taking an extended trip over my knee.”  John loosens his grip on the four-year-old.  “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Sammy sniffles.

“Sam, do you know how you acted naughty today?”  John waits for the stubborn youth’s response.  “Sam, remember lying to me is against the rules and will get your butt swatted.”

Sam silently nods his head slowly acknowledging his understanding.

John waits for his youngest to contemplate his response.  “Well, Sam?”

“Uhm, Sammy made a mess.”

“And?”

“You said no PBJ.”

“That’s right.  You didn’t follow my orders.  You acted naughty so I’m going to punish you.”  John picks Sam up.  He lays the youngster across his knees.

“NO!”  Sam yells before John even applies the first swat to the upturned bottom.

John secures Sam to his lap.  He pinkens Sam’s backside with a Trifecta of strong open handed swats.

The child struggles and gasps.

John quickly focuses his administrations on the round curves of the youth’s sit spots.  He applies two memorable final swats.

As abruptly as John began Sam’s spanking, he stops.

Sam wiggles and squirms.   To the four-year-old his butt is tremendously sore.

In John’s mind he’s administered a sufficient ‘attention getter’ of a spanking to his disobedient youngest.  He’s sure the four-year-old thinks his daddy is the meanest person alive and this is the worst spanking he’s ever gotten.  John lifts Sam off his lap.

The child quickly wraps his arms around John’s neck.

Maybe John’s not the meanest.  “Sammy, you’re okay.”

Sam coughs.

“Calm down, kiddo.  Take a deep breath.”

Sam breathes in deeply.  He expels a heavy sigh.

John pats the child’s back.  He waits to feel Sam’s small tense form begin to relax. “That’s it,” John comforts.  “One more deep breath.”

Sam follows his father’s instructions.  He quiets.

“That’s good, champ.  You’re okay,” John pauses.  “Now Sammy, you’ve been punished for being naughty and I forgive you,” John repositions Sam so he can see his face.  He cradles the boy firmly but away from his body.  “So Sam, are you going to follow my orders?”

Sam nods his tear streaked face.

“And do what Dean tells you to do?”

Sam quietly nods, again.

“No more stomping your foot?”

Sam’s lower lip juts out sadly.  He pouts.  He reaches around to rub his smarting backside.  “No more.”

John warmly hugs Sam against his body.  “Okay, let’s go see how your brother’s doing.  And you still owe me five minutes of corner time.”

Sam lifts his head off his father’s shoulder.  He pouts with furrowed eyebrows.

John ruffles Sam’s hair.  He carries his unhappy four-year-old to the living room area.  “Dean.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You done?”

“Almost.”

“Your brother has five minutes.”  John places Sam on the floor near the wall.

Sam obediently faces the corner.  His chubby right thumb moves slowly to fill his small mouth.  His fingers cup his nose.

“I’ll be with the Impala.”  John exits the house to continue his mechanic’s work.

Sam peeks through wet lashes over his shoulder at his big brother.

Dean slams shut his book.  “Eat shit and die.  I’m done!”  He proclaims enthusiastically.  He casually glances towards Sammy.

Sammy quickly turns back to face the corner.  He rubs his sore heinie.

Dean’s shoulders slump forward.  He sympathetically frowns at his little brother.  “Sammy, I’m sorry I got you in trouble with dad.”  He slides off his chair.  He walks over to stand next to the kid in exile.  He automatically pulls Sammy’s forearm downward to remove the kid’s thumb from his mouth.  “I did it to keep you safe.  You need to do what I tell you and what dad tells you.”

The top of Sam’s head rests against the wall.  He unconsciously gives his butt another rub.  He turns sideways to glance at his brother.  He blinks twice.  “’kay.”  He turns his head back to stare at his feet.

“Are you mad at me?”  Dean cautiously questions.

Sam ponders his response.  He turns his head slowly towards his brother.  “You makes me PBJ?”  Sam grins ear to ear.

Dean shakes his head.  “Here we go again.”

THE END