WBY - Old Enough
Title: WBY - Old Enough
Characters: John, Sam, Dean and Caleb
Word counnt: 6,486
Summary: Written for the rare pairings at http://spanking-world.livejournal.com/…The Winchesters have a golden rule
XXX
“Dad, why can’t I come with you?” Dean squares his shoulders and looks up at his father.
“Because I said so.”
Dean grunts then. It’s obvious what he thinks of that particular answer.
“Dad, I’m fourteen. I can help.”
“No.”
“Dad…”
John turns and glares at Dean. He shoves his rolled up jeans in the duffle, nods toward Dean and his and Sammy’s room. “Help your brother pack.”
“He’s ten - he can pack himself,” Dean grouses.
John reaches over and smacks Dean head. Its just a little more than a Winchester love tap but the meaning is clear. “I don’t know what your problem is boy, but I do not make a habit of repeating myself. “ He doesn’t need to say anything more; Dean knows he’s pushed his father past the point of safety.
“Yes, sir.”
John almost pushes him toward the bedroom he and Sammy share.
Dean opens the door and allows it to slam hard enough that Sam jumps. Serves him right, it’s his fault Dean can’t hunt. Dean is sure of it. Its almost always Sammy’s fault when it comes to hunting. He thinks of his father’s order about helping Sam pack but the goof is already packing. Who knew what strange alignment of stars or cosmic flux occurred that could cause Sam to actually start behaving himself.
“Why do you care?” Sam asks. It’s obvious he’s heard the conversation out in the living room.
“Cause I don’t want to be stuck with you.”
Sam shakes his head, hair hanging in his face, “You are the one who is always telling me to stop hounding him.”
“Yeah, but that’s about dumb stuff like soccer. This is hunting.”
Sam ignores him. Probably because he’s already sick of hunting this and hunting that, besides Sam is pretty good at ignoring just about anyone when he decides to, “So where are we going?” Sam asks.
As if I know, Dean thinks. “Dunno, maybe Bobby’s. Maybe Jim’s.”
Sam cocks his head. It is obvious that his geeky brain is thinking - Bobby is in South Dakota and Jim in Minnesota. Neither is close to Burtonsville, Maryland. Nor in the direction of the hunt in Gainesville, Florida. Not that it matters.
“Shut up. I know it.” Dean counters before Sam has even said a word.
Sam sighs, “It would be nice if he let us know where we are going to be.”
“Yeah well, whatever.” Dean throws himself on his bed and grabs a pair of underwear lying there. He takes an exploratory whiff and then satisfied that whatever the olfactory score is - he deems them clean. Dean tosses them toward his duffle and not the dirty close bag.
Sam wrinkles his nose.
Dean spends the next fifteen minutes sniffing, discarding and piling. It is his idea of packing and no one really has ever cared one way or another. He does the wash most of the time anyway.
John raps once on the door, a signal to get their asses out to the Impala and Dean sighs. He wants to hunt with Dad. He can hunt with him but instead he is delegated to Sammy watching.
Shit.
But he grabs the dirty clothes duffle and the clean one then slings the extra stuff duffle over his shoulders. Sam does the same. It’s hard to believe that their entire existence is comprised of four duffle bags and a dirty clothes bag.
XXX
The drive is quiet, John is probably thinking about the hunt…so much so that he doesn’t even pay attention when Dean starts flicking Sammy’s head in the back seat. Dean’s not sure why he’s riding in the back. Probably punishment for the backchat earlier. But Dean’s not dumb so he hadn’t said a word, just hopped in along side of Sam. Sam, on the other hand, is obviously pissed at having his back seat encroached upon. Naturally, Dean has to make it worse by agitating him.
“OWE!” Sam yells - for no other reason than he can. Because a flicked head doesn’t cause that kind of pain.
“Dean!” Dad barks, “Leave your brother alone.”
“How can I leave him alone,” Dean mutters, “We are sitting side by side.”
“”What did you say?” John peers hard at Dean through the rear view mirror.
“Nothing.”
“Well, it better stay ‘nothing’ or I swear I will pull this car over.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean says clearly. He doesn’t want an ass whipping this early on in the game. He doesn’t want one at anytime really.
Sam scowls at Dean and then flips the pages on his book. Probably some dumb textbook or something. Dean doesn’t care but he looks anyway, The Catcher In The Rye.
“Dumb name for a book, Sam.”
“It’s a perfectly good name and if you read the book you’d know why.”
“Well, that ain’t happening so as far as I’m concerned it’s a dumb ass book with a lame ass name.”
Sam snorts, turns his shoulder away from Dean and continues to read. Dean pulls out his walkman and pops in a cassette tape. It isn’t till her hears the opening rift of “Enter Sandman,” that he begins to calm down.
He wakes to the sound of the Impala pulling off the smooth macadam and onto crush and run. He knows all of her sounds, but the sound of the highway under her wheels is always the most comforting. It’s then that he realizes where he is.
“CALEB?” He leans over the front seat and practically yells it in his father’s ear. John for his part almost turns the wheel into the ramshackle fence that runs the length of the driveway.
“Jesus, Dean! Give me a heart attack why don’t ya?”
“Caleb? We are staying with Caleb?”
“It’s on the way. You’ll be fine.”
“Dad, Caleb is just a little older than me! I don’t need him to be a babysitter!”
“He’s over eighteen, you’re fourteen. He’s legally an adult and he’s got the space.”
“And that’s the criteria?”
“No, I’m the criteria. Besides, I thought you liked Caleb?”
“I do - but not as a fuc- freaking babysitter!”
“Sucks to be you.”
“Daad.”
John’s voice drops to a low rumble. It is obvious that while he’s willing to discuss the decision for the boys to stay with Caleb, he’s not going to change his mind. “Dean, you’ll do as I say. You’ll stay with Caleb and you’ll listen to him. Just like you would me. The Bobby and Jim Rule applies to him as well.”
“Huh?”
“Pardon?” John’s voice is ominous now.
“I mean - sir.” Dean modifies, “But THE RULE! That can’t possibly be the case. The Rule is for Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim.
“The Rule is for who I say it is for…and I say it’s for Caleb.”
“But Dad the Bobby and Jim rule is regarding spankings. Do you really think I’m gonna let Caleb spank me?”
“I’m hoping it will never come to that. You behave yourself and it’s not even going to be an issue. But if Caleb feels like he needs to wallop your ass, you will get it again when I get home.” John looks through at the rear view again, narrows his eyes at Sam, “That means you too, mister.”
“Why are you draggin’ me into it” Sam protests, “I don’t plan on getting my butt smacked no matter what and I’m not even arguing about Caleb.”
“Of course not Sam, you are freakin’ ten! What do you care who babysits you.”
John pulls the car up in front of the house. He puts the car in park and turns around to face Sam and Dean, draping an arm over the front seat.
“Boys, I mean this, you will behave while you are here. You will follow Caleb’s orders and Dean, you will act like you aren’t an ingrate.”
Dean mumbles low, “Caleb already knows I’m an ingrate.”
“Well, then he will be pleasantly surprised at your sudden change in demeanor.”
Dean is quiet. He doesn’t know what to say. Well, he knows what he wants to say but that isn’t going to go over well.
“Dean, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Because it really doesn’t matter.
Dean is getting babysat but a person who up until this particular visit has been his friend. An older friend, true… but certainly more of a contemporary than Uncle Bobby or Pastor Jim. And Caleb has been given carte blanche to spank his ass. Not that he really expects Caleb to do that. Caleb is the one who snuck Dean out behind the barn last year and they managed to drink a six-pack of beer without anyone getting any the wiser. Caleb is fun. Caleb is crazy and in a good way. Caleb has even found himself in trouble with his own father!
Dean remembered two years ago when John had been so furious with the younger hunter that he had taken him out to the very same barn that Dean and Caleb had shared the beer over and tanned his ass. That’s right. Smacked him with the supple, worn belt that his father kept in far too good condition to only be needed for holding up his pants. John had found Caleb smoking…something John did on occasion but was obviously determined that no one else was going to do. Caleb had protested, he was sixteen! John wasn’t his father! It was only a cigarette - it wasn’t like he was smoking crack! None of that had deterred his father from walloping Caleb and Dean isn’t sure, but he doesn’t think that Caleb has smoked since. Or if he has, he has done it so far out of John Winchester’s range that he would never find out.
Caleb is a smart boy; he knows that John Winchester’s range is pretty damn far so Dean thinks the kid has probably given up the habit for good.
Kid, Dean thinks and once again the thought of Caleb being in charge makes him mad and humiliated in equal parts.
Dean follows his father up to Caleb’s house, Sam trails behind. It’s a little more than a cabin really but it is “his”. Caleb’s family had been hunters as far back as anyone remembered and the cabin and its barn and surrounding acreage have been in his family since almost as long. Normally, staying with Caleb is fun. He’s just this side of crazy and has lived sans parents since he was fifteen. Kids whose parents die hunting a rugaru, don’t file for social security and the nomadic lifestyle, ability to stay off the grid and the Appalachian mentality of us versus them has kept Caleb well free of CPS. The boy runs a trap line, can hunt with snares and fish with his bare hands if he has to. Between the small garden and the mountain, he’s never really not eaten well. He has an uncle who up until the last year or so had made weekly trips up the mountain to check on him and he has an extended hunter family that keeps tabs on him too.
He also has John Winchester and his father has always thought of Caleb as family. “Family” means a lot to his dad.
No - Caleb and his solitary existence really isn’t very solitary at all if you think about it.
Caleb meets them on the front porch, hair down to his shoulders and warm smile on his face.
“Hey guys!”
John embraces him with a smile and a rough hug and then rubs the dark mop on his head. “What’s this?”
Caleb grins, “It’s my “’Fall heading into Winter ensemble” you like?” Caleb spins once, giving the full effect of his shaggy mane of hair, the tattered jeans and a patched but oddly clean and worn flannel shirt.
“Christ, you are worse than Sam.” John puts just a hint of growl in his voice, but its all for show. Caleb grins wider, teeth bright white against his deeply tanned face.
Dean looks hard at Caleb. He is worse than Sam on his worst day. Caleb looks the part of a mountain man; except he doesn’t have the full beard that Dean figures would complete the picture. Caleb’s beard could at best be called scruff, ragged and uneven, much like his hair. He’s wiry and slender - Dean figures maybe a buck forty. But Dean knows he’s powerful and strong. Dean has come up on the short end of more than one sparring match to not realize that. But despite the required training and the hard life of a hunter, he has never seen Caleb in any disposition other than happy - he is a plethora of sunshine as far as Dean knows and if that ain’t a crazy way for a hunter to be than Dean doesn’t know jack shit.
Caleb turns to look at Dean, “Hey, Dean! Who pissed in your soup?”
Dean squints in Caleb’s direction and tries to blame it on the late afternoon sun.
“I’m fine.” He says brusquely, snatching at his duffle and shouldering his way into Caleb’s house. He might like Caleb and hell, they might even be friends but his father has put Dean in a foul mood. In his peripheral he catches a glimpse of Caleb’s non-committal shrug and then hears Sam yapping to him about something stupid.
Dean heads to the guest bedroom he and Sam always share when they visit Caleb. It’s incredibly small with single chest of drawers and bunk beds. Dean throws his duffle on the bottom. As the oldest, he should get the top bed and it is well within his rights to claim it but Dean prefers being close to the ground. It’s easier to protect Sammy if his feet are only six inches from the worn floorboards.
That pisses him off.
Dean throws himself on his bed, fully clothed and booted then laces his hands behind his head to wait.
He figures it will be Sammy who comes in first, but it could be Dad. Especially if Dad wants to drill in some last minute warnings or threaten another what for - which would be like him. Dean already knows all the rules, including the stupid spanking rule so he really doesn’t want to hear them again.
Instead it is Caleb.
“What’s up, Dean?” Caleb stands in the doorway, his lean hip jutting up against the door jam.
“Nothin’”
“John’s already gone, he said he didn’t need to beat a dead horse and left. Not sure what that means but with your dad it could be anything.” Caleb looks away from Dean for a moment, seems to consider his next words, “What’s going on in that dumb ass Winchester head?”
“Sam?”
“He’s down by the stream reading his book.”
Dean swallows hard. “Still nothing.’”
Caleb shrugs, “Okay, whatever but you know, sulky, pouty kid is a pain in my ass and I was hoping for less pain in the ass and more fun.”
“Fun ain’t happening, Caleb.”
“Alright. I’m gonna grab Sam and see if we can catch some trout for dinner. You can eat or not but I’ll imagine whatever funk you got going on, food will change your mind.”
Dean huffed, “Cheeseburger maybe.”
Caleb laughed then, “Wait till you taste fresh rainbow trout a la Caleb.”
XXX
Caleb was as good as his word; he and Sam came back with a string of trout, enough for all three boys for the night. As usual, Sam was his chatty self, talking about his fishing prowess and Caleb just laughed and let him talk.
“Dean, give me a hand with these will ya?” Caleb waggled the fish and Dean crooked an eye in his direction.
“No way, “ Dean answered.
“Dude, you didn’t help catch them, at least you can help clean them.”
“I blow holes in things, man…I don’t “clean” fish.”
“Well, if you want to eat you do.” Caleb didn’t sound particularly angry but he sounded like he expected Dean to do exactly that.
“Not hungry.”
Caleb laughed out loud, “Now that is a fucking lie and you know it. You’ve been hungry since you turned eleven. C’mon Dean, Sammy’s gonna get some lettuce from the garden and that and this fish? It’s gonna be better than any five star restaurant.”
“Don’t know any five star restaurants.”
“Okay, so you won’t know what you are missing but believe me, you’ll enjoy the hell out of it.”
Dean reluctantly stood and follows Caleb out onto the porch. Caleb hands him a knife, slender and flexible.
“Who gave you this pussy knife?” Dean asks.
“Its for filleting fish, dickwad - I’ll show you.”
“I don’t need you to show me, I’ve got this.”
Caleb gives Dean a partial scowl, “You fuck up the meat on this trout and you’ll be sorry.”
Dean squares his shoulders and eyes Caleb up balefully, “What are you gonna do about it?”
Caleb tilts his head looking like a bedraggled cocker spaniel puppy, “Not a damn thing but you will be sorry because Sammy and I will be eating fat fresh caught trout and you’ll be nibbling on pieces of fish with bones in them. It’s your call.”
Dean huffs but grabs the filleting knife and manages to follow Caleb’s lead. He does a fairly decent job on the fish and even though he won’t admit it, he can’t wait to eat the damn thing. He’s hungry and has been hungry since they left this morning. He’d forgone lunch in a futile attempt to protest his father’s dictate about not hunting. It hadn’t changed a damn thing except make him hungry.
Dean hates to admit it, but dinner is awesome.
After Caleb nods toward the dishes, “Your job kiddo, Sam and I caught the fish and made the salad.”
Dean growls, “I filleted the fish.”
“You filleted your fish. The only other option was boney fish.”
Dean shakes his head. It’s childish and stupid, he does a lot more for Sammy and himself on a routine basis but it’s the principle of the thing. He doesn’t want to be here. At all. He didn’t want the damn delicious fish dinner and he doesn’t want to do the fucking dishes.
He wants to be hunting with his father.
“Christ on a cracker, Dean. It’s three dishes, three forks and three glasses. We even cooked the fish outside so there is no pan to deal with.”
Dean stubbornly sets his jaw.
“Fine,” Caleb grabs the three plates and forks and dumps them in the sink, he turns and picks up the glasses one handed and puts them in too.
It takes Caleb all of six minutes to do the dishes and then he purposely turns his back on Dean and heads outside.
Dean feels like an idiot.
XXX
Night finds Dean trying to sleep on the bottom bunk. He can hear Sam’s rhythmic breathing above him, as slow and regular as a metronome. Sam always sleeps like that, deep and peaceful, barely aware of his surroundings. It’s something that their father has tried to encourage less of. Then again, if Sam has a nightmare…well that’s something entirely different.
The window is open and the breeze is wonderful, cool and smelling of woods with the faint hint of woodsmoke from the fire they had made earlier. It’s autumn but so far it’s been warm in the days and cool at night. It’s exactly the kind of weather that Dean loves.
The weather doesn’t seem to be helping him tonight. He pulls the covers up to his chin, and then takes them down again. He shifts to the right, then to the left, flips his pillow over and punches it for good measure. Nothing helps. Despite the breeze, the woods and everything that he should like, he doesn’t like. None of it.
Dean spends another ten minutes tossing and then makes a decision.
It takes less than five minutes for him to pull on his sweats and sneakers. It takes considerably longer to get past Caleb’s room and out the cabin. Unlike Sam, Caleb sleeps lightly, years of being on his own has made him a formidable opponent when it comes to sneaking out. Not to mention the fact that he is used to sleeping by himself and every tiny noise that Dean makes probably sounds like artillery fire to Caleb. Dean is under no illusions; sneaking out in the middle of the night would not go over well.
But Dean is good. He has been trained by the best so he makes it out into the crisp, clear air with no trouble at all.
He hits the deer trail fast. The moonlight gives him as much light as it would if he had a flashlight and his feet are sure on the rocky path.
He runs hard, pushing his body, but enjoying the fact that it can be pushed. He is like a machine when it comes to running. Sam will probably be better though, even at ten, Sam has the kind of stride that would make a cross-country coach drool. The kid may be little but he runs with the effortless grace of a person who was born to run. Dean has to work a little harder at it, but that’s okay, he beats Sammy in everything else.
The deer trail is clear but twisty so it doesn’t really surprise him that he gets a little misdirected. Not really lost, per say, because he knows north from south and where the cabin is approximately…still his midnight run has morphed into an early morning run, mostly because running away from the cabin is easy, finding his way back requires a little resourcefulness. Still, resourceful is as much a part of Winchester as the smell of gun oil so he makes it back - just a little later, or earlier maybe than he expected.
He’s not expecting Caleb on the front porch.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Caleb sounds pissed. Dean hasn’t ever heard him sound pissed. Not really.
“Running.” Dean makes his way up the steps, running his hand through his sweaty spiky hair. He does acknowledge Caleb so he figures that’s good enough.
“Running? In the middle of the night?”
“Sure why not?” Dean tries for nonchalant but he knows he’s not really pulling it off.
“Why not? - BECAUSE IT’S THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT!”
“Don’t have a damn cow, Caleb. I was running, not summoning demons.”
“Godamit! Didn’t you ever think of leaving a damn note? I had no idea where you were you were?”
Dean moves his way into the cabin’s front door, heading to the sink to draw himself a large glass of water. He is suddenly slammed with 70 pounds of Sammy.
“DEAN! I couldn’t find you!” Sammy sounds shaky and on the verge of tears.
“What is wrong with you two? I went RUNNING.”
“Damn, Dean. Just a note would have made all the difference in the world.”
Dean absently guzzles half a glass of tap water, “Yeah, well, I forgot. I’m home now, all bits accounted for and thirsty as shit so just let me suck down about 10 gallons of water and I’ll be fine.”
Caleb drops his head and toes the ground uncharacteristically looking chagrinned. His voice softens, “Sorry Dean, I didn’t know, man, just a scrawled note…”
Dean turns to look at Caleb for the first time, “What do you mean?”
Sam glares at Caleb, “He called Dad, dickwad. And he should’ve. You would’ve killed me if I up and ran off to parts unknown in the middle of the night.”
“Dad?” Dean looks uncomprehendingly at Caleb, “You called my dad?”
“Dean,” Caleb placates, “I didn’t know where you were. John was clear about keeping you safe while he was gone. If you’d let me know where you were going, I wouldn’t have panicked. Christ, knowing your dad was depending on me kind of freaked me out.”
“Freaked you out!”
“Look Dean, I’ll call him okay? Tell him you are fine; tell him I jumped the gun. He’ll be pissed as shit with me but he will understand.”
Dean slams the glass on the table, “He won’t underfuckingstand, Caleb. He’s gonna kill me and it’s all your fault!”
Caleb offers a quirked eye at Dean. “Noooo, not all my fault. Your fault. Sorry, Dean but all you had to do was let me know where you were going. Maybe it will work out, your dad is busy, I’ll just let him know you’re safe.”
Dean flops himself on one of the mismatched chairs and allows his head to fall on what passes as the kitchen table.
“I’m dead.”
Caleb picks up the wall phone, so fucking old it still has a coiled tether from the receiver to the base. It’s probably been here since Caleb’s grandfather was alive.
“John, it’s Caleb…No, no, all is good, Dean is fine.” Dean can hear his father yelling through the old phone. It might be old, but it still seems to work pretty well.
“I can let you talk to him if you want, “ Caleb offers helpfully, when the voice on the other line takes a breath.
Caleb covers the mouthpiece and mouths to Dean, “He says he doesn’t want to talk to you…it might make him upset.”
Dean is he’s pretty sure Caleb is paraphrasing.
Caleb rubs a hand over his face then turns away from Dean, “What?” He offers a furtive glance in Dean’s direction, “No. No way, John.”
The voice on the other side of the phone gets exponentially louder. Caleb speaks softer, “No, of course not. Well, yes, yes, sir…I know what that entails but…“
There is another long tirade.
“John, you can’t possibly mean that.” Caleb is trying to sound reasonable.
Caleb glances at Dean again, “John, that is not physically possible and neither Dean nor I have a horse to ride anyway.”
Dean is really pretty amazed that Caleb is speaking so calmly. Dean has felt the wrath of his father, both in person and on the phone. The distance offered by a phone call only gives an illusion of safety.
“Are you sure?” Caleb asks haltingly. Then a little lower, as if he doesn’t want Dean to hear. Which is stupid because Dean is in the same room with him, “I’m not so sure I feel comfortable doing that. I mean, this is Dean and isn’t that something you usually take care of?” There are some more loud sounds and Dean watches as Caleb nods into the phone. Then, as if he realizes who he is talking to Caleb attaches a “Yes, sir,” to the conversation eventually ending with, “Are you really sure, John?”
This time Dean can hear his father through the tinny connection, “Yes, damn it!”
Caleb cringes just a bit but honestly? Dean doesn’t blame him.
Caleb hangs up the phone quietly. Everything seems quiet really.
“Dean, I’m sorry, dude,” Caleb begins. “Your dad is riled up…. I mean he is buckets of crazy pissed,”
“What’s new?” Sam interjects.
“No, I mean entirely previously unheard of levels of pissed.”
“I dunno, “Dean concedes, “He can get pretty pissed, even on a routine basis.”
“Dude,” Caleb pinches his nose. The gesture is so unlike Caleb that it worries Dean tremendously.
“Dude, he wants me to tan your ass.”
Dean allows his head to thud solidly against the table even harder than before.
“Seriously?” Dean asks but it is a stupid question. Of course Caleb is serious. Of course his father is serious.
Caleb nods again, “So serious, in fact, that if he comes home tomorrow and your ass still isn’t feeling the effects of tonight’s ass whipping, he’s going to whip my ass and then whip yours again.”
“He’s already gonna wallop Dean again,” Sam adds helpfully, “You know…The Rule and all.”
“Shut up, Sam.” This comes from both Caleb and Dean and if they didn’t sound so absolutely miserable it probably would be funny.
Sam raises his hands in a universal sign of acquiescence and then backs up into the living room, it only takes a second for Dean to realize that he has gone to their room.
“Anybody but your dad, Dean and I’d tell them to go fuck themselves, but damn that man. I mean, he will kick my ass, just like he said he would. I’d almost take the whippin’ to save you from two but y’know; it was a pretty damn dumb thing to do. Plus, me and your old man only had a go of it once and that was more than enough for me.”
Dean eyes Caleb ruefully, “Only once? - Wuss.”
“Well, maybe I’m just a bit more trainable than you, Winchester. Besides, I think your old man licked me for a loop just because he knew he wouldn’t be back anytime soon to do it again. He kind of strikes me as that kinda man. I think he might have even said something like that before he scalded my ass…something like, ‘I don’t plan on comin’ back to do this again, boy.’ I gotta tell ya, he did make an impression on both me and my ass. “
“He has that effect on kids.”
“Kids hell, I think on everyone who’s ever crossed him. Which is why I don’t plan on doing it this time. Your old man has given me an order, fucking with your dad’s orders is suicide.”
Dean finds his head hitting the table yet again.
“Are you tryin’ to brain yourself?” Caleb queries.
“Actually, a concussion would be nice, maybe a won’t remember this night.”
Caleb reaches for his belt buckle, “Sorry, dude, you will remember.”
“Aren’t we even going to the barn?”
Caleb looks puzzled, “I guess so, I mean we can. Is that what you want?”
“What I want is not get my ass beat!”
Caleb sighs, “Believe me, I don’t want to beat it, but like I said.” He tilts his head toward the door and ultimately the barn, “You want it there?”
Dean stands resignedly, “I guess so…no use for Sam to have to hear it.”
“I’m thinking it won’t matter.”
“What are you, some kind of ass kicking machine? Do you go around beating on other kids butts for fun or something? How the hell do you know I’m gonna yell?”
“Well, your dad was pretty clear about what I needed to do and if my yelling when he beat my ass is any indication of what he expects, it’s gonna be pretty loud down in that barn.”
“Just come on and get it over with.” Dean opens the screen door. He wishes it would slam but Caleb is right behind him and catches it before it even hits. They walk to the barn, Dean just a half step ahead of Caleb. He tries to walk like he isn’t even a little bit worried, which he really is. Caleb isn’t his father and that gives him a small measure of comfort, but Caleb is strong and seems pretty damned determined.
They step from the late morning sun into the darkness of the barn. It smells of horses and goats. Strangely enough, Caleb likes goat milk, prefers it to cow milk and says they are far better weed eaters than anything you could buy at home depot.
There are three horses and a pack of goats…do goats run in a pack? Dean isn’t sure. These goats can move from the barn to the outside enclosure at will. It they have any brains in their goat heads they will leave the barn as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the horses are stuck in their stalls.
Dean turns and faces Caleb. It sure as hell is awkward. He wonders if it feels that way to Caleb too.
“Awkward.” Caleb says.
A small smile tugs on Dean’s face. Totally inappropriate for the situation overall but he feels kind of good that Caleb is struggling a bit with this too.
“Your dad said bare assed.” Caleb begins. Dean shrugs and starts to unbutton his jeans, “But I say no. I’ve seen enough of your ass in day to day dealings with you, I don’t want to see if now.”
Dean grins even wider, he and Caleb have both seen each other butt naked. It’s never been an issue, whether swimming in the local swimming hole or walking from the head to the bedroom. Dean’s never been self conscious about nudity. It helps that he looks pretty damn fine but Caleb is maybe a little skinnier than Dean would think was good looking and Caleb never cared either. Dean figures maybe it’s because he’s grown up in a car and motel rooms and privacy has never been something he’s cared about one way or another.
Dean sighs, looks around for a spot where he can lean over. There’s a likely area at the goat pen, but he wrinkles his nose at that, he settles for an empty horse stall. It’s got the bottom part shut and the top part open, it looks like he could balance himself over it without too much problem. Obviously Caleb has the same idea because he gestures in that direction and Dean shuffles the few feet to it. There are bales of hay stacked neatly in the stall and a rather gruff looking one-eyed cat sitting on top of them.
“Don’t mind him, that’s just Banger.” Caleb offers.
“Banger?” Dean questions.
“Yeah, ‘cause I think he’s knocked up half the she-cats on this mountain. And yeah, I know, I should get him fixed but the damn thing is half mountain lion and I can’t catch him.”
“Great monster hunter and you can’t even catch a half blind cat,” Dean mutters.
“Okay, shithead. After I beat your ass black and blue, how about you decide to catch him.” Then just to prove a point, Caleb offers Dean his arm, deeply furrowed with scratches. “And that’s from two weeks ago.”
Dean shakes his head. A blistered ass and a scratched up arm are not in his future. Well, the ass is, but there is not a damn thing he can do about that. He can, however, avoid a bloody arm.
Dean settles himself over the stall’s dutch door and waits for Caleb to start walloping. It seems to take a while, he can hear Caleb pull off his belt but there is not the almost simultaneous white-hot stripe that accompanies his father’s lickings.
Caleb coughs once uneasily.
“Well, get on with it! I don’t wanna wait here with my ass over this damn stall. What if one of those goats decides to make a break for it.”
“Goats? You’re afraid of goats?”
“Not really, “ Dean confesses, “But you know they have those fugly yellow eyes and you just can’t trust something with eyes like that.”
Caleb chortles and then a moment later there is the brief whistle of leather as his belt slaps hard across Dean’s butt.
“Jesus!”
“Nope! Just me!” Caleb answers and then tags him again, this time a little lower.
There is another few hard licks, not as accurately placed as a John Winchester whipping but whatever Caleb lacks in experience he makes up for with enthusiasm.
“Caleb!” Dean yelps.
“Huh? Am I not doing it right?”
“Yes, damn it just…” Dean’s statement is cut off when another strip hits his jean-clad ass, “OWE FUCK!”
“I guess I am then. I seem to remember yelling that when your old man whipped me.”
Dean pants, “You did?”
“Yeah, but then he gave me another lick for cussing. Should I do that too?”
“What? No, for Christ sakes! I’m not your son or your, whatever Dad is to you. I can fucking cuss if I want.”
Caleb grunts agreeably, obviously okay with that answer and then lays another hard lick. Dean grunts too, but for a different reason. Then there are a few more well placed smacks, each just as hard as the previous one. Finally, Caleb stops, breathing a little hard.
“Good enough?”
“Well, how the fuck am I supposed to know? “
“Well, would John stop now?”
Dean wants to say, HELL YEAH, but he’s a pretty honest kid.
“No…I guess not.”
Caleb sighs and applies two more rapid lashes of liquid fire against Dean’s ass.
“Better?”
Dean whimpers low. “No, uh yes. I think so.”
Dean hears the somewhat familiar sound of Caleb sliding his belt back through his belt hoops.
“Good. ‘M not so fond of this tanning of asses.”
Dean straightens and turns to Caleb. He wants to cry. He feels like he should - he would probably cry if his father had walloped him but he swallows down the lump in his throat, orders away the tears as if John Winchester had told him to hush. Oddly enough it occurs to him that his father doesn’t say stupid things like, “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.” Then again, the only real time that Dean cries is when he is getting his ass handed to him and that wouldn’t make any sense anyway.
He amends that thought though, he has cried when Sam has gotten his ass beat sometimes, especially if he himself hadn’t. Which is stupid too. Why cry when Sam was getting a spanking? He figures that’s because if Sam gets his butt whipped it’s usually because Dean hasn’t done his job. Not always though. Sometimes Sam really and truly earns the spanking. If that’s the case, well, Dean can muddle through the howls of his little brother without too much effort.
“Sorry, Dean,” Caleb’s voice is soft and strangely southern. It’s mountain talk and Caleb often looses the intonation when he is on a hunt. Here though, on his mountain it is more pronounced. Then again, maybe it is the stress of walloping on Dean’s ass? Dean wonders about that, why is Caleb stressed when Dean is the one nursing a blistered butt.
Dean nods, not trusting himself to speak.
“You wanna stay down here a bit?” Caleb asks quietly.
“Down in this barn with your stinking goats? Nah, I’ll take a rain check on that.”
They head back up to the house side by side. Dean notices with some satisfaction that his stride is almost as big as Caleb’s and that the older boy is not really that much taller.
“So, Dean. Is your dad really gonna whup on you again when he gets back?” Caleb asks.
“Yeah.”
“Duuude,” Caleb hip checks Dean, “I’m glad my last name ain’t Winchester.”
Dean would like to agree but the reality is he’s pretty damn happy he’s a Winchester…even if it does mean he gets his ass handed to him twice for the same damn thing.
Characters: John, Sam, Dean and Caleb
Word counnt: 6,486
Summary: Written for the rare pairings at http://spanking-world.livejournal.com/…The Winchesters have a golden rule
XXX
“Dad, why can’t I come with you?” Dean squares his shoulders and looks up at his father.
“Because I said so.”
Dean grunts then. It’s obvious what he thinks of that particular answer.
“Dad, I’m fourteen. I can help.”
“No.”
“Dad…”
John turns and glares at Dean. He shoves his rolled up jeans in the duffle, nods toward Dean and his and Sammy’s room. “Help your brother pack.”
“He’s ten - he can pack himself,” Dean grouses.
John reaches over and smacks Dean head. Its just a little more than a Winchester love tap but the meaning is clear. “I don’t know what your problem is boy, but I do not make a habit of repeating myself. “ He doesn’t need to say anything more; Dean knows he’s pushed his father past the point of safety.
“Yes, sir.”
John almost pushes him toward the bedroom he and Sammy share.
Dean opens the door and allows it to slam hard enough that Sam jumps. Serves him right, it’s his fault Dean can’t hunt. Dean is sure of it. Its almost always Sammy’s fault when it comes to hunting. He thinks of his father’s order about helping Sam pack but the goof is already packing. Who knew what strange alignment of stars or cosmic flux occurred that could cause Sam to actually start behaving himself.
“Why do you care?” Sam asks. It’s obvious he’s heard the conversation out in the living room.
“Cause I don’t want to be stuck with you.”
Sam shakes his head, hair hanging in his face, “You are the one who is always telling me to stop hounding him.”
“Yeah, but that’s about dumb stuff like soccer. This is hunting.”
Sam ignores him. Probably because he’s already sick of hunting this and hunting that, besides Sam is pretty good at ignoring just about anyone when he decides to, “So where are we going?” Sam asks.
As if I know, Dean thinks. “Dunno, maybe Bobby’s. Maybe Jim’s.”
Sam cocks his head. It is obvious that his geeky brain is thinking - Bobby is in South Dakota and Jim in Minnesota. Neither is close to Burtonsville, Maryland. Nor in the direction of the hunt in Gainesville, Florida. Not that it matters.
“Shut up. I know it.” Dean counters before Sam has even said a word.
Sam sighs, “It would be nice if he let us know where we are going to be.”
“Yeah well, whatever.” Dean throws himself on his bed and grabs a pair of underwear lying there. He takes an exploratory whiff and then satisfied that whatever the olfactory score is - he deems them clean. Dean tosses them toward his duffle and not the dirty close bag.
Sam wrinkles his nose.
Dean spends the next fifteen minutes sniffing, discarding and piling. It is his idea of packing and no one really has ever cared one way or another. He does the wash most of the time anyway.
John raps once on the door, a signal to get their asses out to the Impala and Dean sighs. He wants to hunt with Dad. He can hunt with him but instead he is delegated to Sammy watching.
Shit.
But he grabs the dirty clothes duffle and the clean one then slings the extra stuff duffle over his shoulders. Sam does the same. It’s hard to believe that their entire existence is comprised of four duffle bags and a dirty clothes bag.
XXX
The drive is quiet, John is probably thinking about the hunt…so much so that he doesn’t even pay attention when Dean starts flicking Sammy’s head in the back seat. Dean’s not sure why he’s riding in the back. Probably punishment for the backchat earlier. But Dean’s not dumb so he hadn’t said a word, just hopped in along side of Sam. Sam, on the other hand, is obviously pissed at having his back seat encroached upon. Naturally, Dean has to make it worse by agitating him.
“OWE!” Sam yells - for no other reason than he can. Because a flicked head doesn’t cause that kind of pain.
“Dean!” Dad barks, “Leave your brother alone.”
“How can I leave him alone,” Dean mutters, “We are sitting side by side.”
“”What did you say?” John peers hard at Dean through the rear view mirror.
“Nothing.”
“Well, it better stay ‘nothing’ or I swear I will pull this car over.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean says clearly. He doesn’t want an ass whipping this early on in the game. He doesn’t want one at anytime really.
Sam scowls at Dean and then flips the pages on his book. Probably some dumb textbook or something. Dean doesn’t care but he looks anyway, The Catcher In The Rye.
“Dumb name for a book, Sam.”
“It’s a perfectly good name and if you read the book you’d know why.”
“Well, that ain’t happening so as far as I’m concerned it’s a dumb ass book with a lame ass name.”
Sam snorts, turns his shoulder away from Dean and continues to read. Dean pulls out his walkman and pops in a cassette tape. It isn’t till her hears the opening rift of “Enter Sandman,” that he begins to calm down.
He wakes to the sound of the Impala pulling off the smooth macadam and onto crush and run. He knows all of her sounds, but the sound of the highway under her wheels is always the most comforting. It’s then that he realizes where he is.
“CALEB?” He leans over the front seat and practically yells it in his father’s ear. John for his part almost turns the wheel into the ramshackle fence that runs the length of the driveway.
“Jesus, Dean! Give me a heart attack why don’t ya?”
“Caleb? We are staying with Caleb?”
“It’s on the way. You’ll be fine.”
“Dad, Caleb is just a little older than me! I don’t need him to be a babysitter!”
“He’s over eighteen, you’re fourteen. He’s legally an adult and he’s got the space.”
“And that’s the criteria?”
“No, I’m the criteria. Besides, I thought you liked Caleb?”
“I do - but not as a fuc- freaking babysitter!”
“Sucks to be you.”
“Daad.”
John’s voice drops to a low rumble. It is obvious that while he’s willing to discuss the decision for the boys to stay with Caleb, he’s not going to change his mind. “Dean, you’ll do as I say. You’ll stay with Caleb and you’ll listen to him. Just like you would me. The Bobby and Jim Rule applies to him as well.”
“Huh?”
“Pardon?” John’s voice is ominous now.
“I mean - sir.” Dean modifies, “But THE RULE! That can’t possibly be the case. The Rule is for Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim.
“The Rule is for who I say it is for…and I say it’s for Caleb.”
“But Dad the Bobby and Jim rule is regarding spankings. Do you really think I’m gonna let Caleb spank me?”
“I’m hoping it will never come to that. You behave yourself and it’s not even going to be an issue. But if Caleb feels like he needs to wallop your ass, you will get it again when I get home.” John looks through at the rear view again, narrows his eyes at Sam, “That means you too, mister.”
“Why are you draggin’ me into it” Sam protests, “I don’t plan on getting my butt smacked no matter what and I’m not even arguing about Caleb.”
“Of course not Sam, you are freakin’ ten! What do you care who babysits you.”
John pulls the car up in front of the house. He puts the car in park and turns around to face Sam and Dean, draping an arm over the front seat.
“Boys, I mean this, you will behave while you are here. You will follow Caleb’s orders and Dean, you will act like you aren’t an ingrate.”
Dean mumbles low, “Caleb already knows I’m an ingrate.”
“Well, then he will be pleasantly surprised at your sudden change in demeanor.”
Dean is quiet. He doesn’t know what to say. Well, he knows what he wants to say but that isn’t going to go over well.
“Dean, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Because it really doesn’t matter.
Dean is getting babysat but a person who up until this particular visit has been his friend. An older friend, true… but certainly more of a contemporary than Uncle Bobby or Pastor Jim. And Caleb has been given carte blanche to spank his ass. Not that he really expects Caleb to do that. Caleb is the one who snuck Dean out behind the barn last year and they managed to drink a six-pack of beer without anyone getting any the wiser. Caleb is fun. Caleb is crazy and in a good way. Caleb has even found himself in trouble with his own father!
Dean remembered two years ago when John had been so furious with the younger hunter that he had taken him out to the very same barn that Dean and Caleb had shared the beer over and tanned his ass. That’s right. Smacked him with the supple, worn belt that his father kept in far too good condition to only be needed for holding up his pants. John had found Caleb smoking…something John did on occasion but was obviously determined that no one else was going to do. Caleb had protested, he was sixteen! John wasn’t his father! It was only a cigarette - it wasn’t like he was smoking crack! None of that had deterred his father from walloping Caleb and Dean isn’t sure, but he doesn’t think that Caleb has smoked since. Or if he has, he has done it so far out of John Winchester’s range that he would never find out.
Caleb is a smart boy; he knows that John Winchester’s range is pretty damn far so Dean thinks the kid has probably given up the habit for good.
Kid, Dean thinks and once again the thought of Caleb being in charge makes him mad and humiliated in equal parts.
Dean follows his father up to Caleb’s house, Sam trails behind. It’s a little more than a cabin really but it is “his”. Caleb’s family had been hunters as far back as anyone remembered and the cabin and its barn and surrounding acreage have been in his family since almost as long. Normally, staying with Caleb is fun. He’s just this side of crazy and has lived sans parents since he was fifteen. Kids whose parents die hunting a rugaru, don’t file for social security and the nomadic lifestyle, ability to stay off the grid and the Appalachian mentality of us versus them has kept Caleb well free of CPS. The boy runs a trap line, can hunt with snares and fish with his bare hands if he has to. Between the small garden and the mountain, he’s never really not eaten well. He has an uncle who up until the last year or so had made weekly trips up the mountain to check on him and he has an extended hunter family that keeps tabs on him too.
He also has John Winchester and his father has always thought of Caleb as family. “Family” means a lot to his dad.
No - Caleb and his solitary existence really isn’t very solitary at all if you think about it.
Caleb meets them on the front porch, hair down to his shoulders and warm smile on his face.
“Hey guys!”
John embraces him with a smile and a rough hug and then rubs the dark mop on his head. “What’s this?”
Caleb grins, “It’s my “’Fall heading into Winter ensemble” you like?” Caleb spins once, giving the full effect of his shaggy mane of hair, the tattered jeans and a patched but oddly clean and worn flannel shirt.
“Christ, you are worse than Sam.” John puts just a hint of growl in his voice, but its all for show. Caleb grins wider, teeth bright white against his deeply tanned face.
Dean looks hard at Caleb. He is worse than Sam on his worst day. Caleb looks the part of a mountain man; except he doesn’t have the full beard that Dean figures would complete the picture. Caleb’s beard could at best be called scruff, ragged and uneven, much like his hair. He’s wiry and slender - Dean figures maybe a buck forty. But Dean knows he’s powerful and strong. Dean has come up on the short end of more than one sparring match to not realize that. But despite the required training and the hard life of a hunter, he has never seen Caleb in any disposition other than happy - he is a plethora of sunshine as far as Dean knows and if that ain’t a crazy way for a hunter to be than Dean doesn’t know jack shit.
Caleb turns to look at Dean, “Hey, Dean! Who pissed in your soup?”
Dean squints in Caleb’s direction and tries to blame it on the late afternoon sun.
“I’m fine.” He says brusquely, snatching at his duffle and shouldering his way into Caleb’s house. He might like Caleb and hell, they might even be friends but his father has put Dean in a foul mood. In his peripheral he catches a glimpse of Caleb’s non-committal shrug and then hears Sam yapping to him about something stupid.
Dean heads to the guest bedroom he and Sam always share when they visit Caleb. It’s incredibly small with single chest of drawers and bunk beds. Dean throws his duffle on the bottom. As the oldest, he should get the top bed and it is well within his rights to claim it but Dean prefers being close to the ground. It’s easier to protect Sammy if his feet are only six inches from the worn floorboards.
That pisses him off.
Dean throws himself on his bed, fully clothed and booted then laces his hands behind his head to wait.
He figures it will be Sammy who comes in first, but it could be Dad. Especially if Dad wants to drill in some last minute warnings or threaten another what for - which would be like him. Dean already knows all the rules, including the stupid spanking rule so he really doesn’t want to hear them again.
Instead it is Caleb.
“What’s up, Dean?” Caleb stands in the doorway, his lean hip jutting up against the door jam.
“Nothin’”
“John’s already gone, he said he didn’t need to beat a dead horse and left. Not sure what that means but with your dad it could be anything.” Caleb looks away from Dean for a moment, seems to consider his next words, “What’s going on in that dumb ass Winchester head?”
“Sam?”
“He’s down by the stream reading his book.”
Dean swallows hard. “Still nothing.’”
Caleb shrugs, “Okay, whatever but you know, sulky, pouty kid is a pain in my ass and I was hoping for less pain in the ass and more fun.”
“Fun ain’t happening, Caleb.”
“Alright. I’m gonna grab Sam and see if we can catch some trout for dinner. You can eat or not but I’ll imagine whatever funk you got going on, food will change your mind.”
Dean huffed, “Cheeseburger maybe.”
Caleb laughed then, “Wait till you taste fresh rainbow trout a la Caleb.”
XXX
Caleb was as good as his word; he and Sam came back with a string of trout, enough for all three boys for the night. As usual, Sam was his chatty self, talking about his fishing prowess and Caleb just laughed and let him talk.
“Dean, give me a hand with these will ya?” Caleb waggled the fish and Dean crooked an eye in his direction.
“No way, “ Dean answered.
“Dude, you didn’t help catch them, at least you can help clean them.”
“I blow holes in things, man…I don’t “clean” fish.”
“Well, if you want to eat you do.” Caleb didn’t sound particularly angry but he sounded like he expected Dean to do exactly that.
“Not hungry.”
Caleb laughed out loud, “Now that is a fucking lie and you know it. You’ve been hungry since you turned eleven. C’mon Dean, Sammy’s gonna get some lettuce from the garden and that and this fish? It’s gonna be better than any five star restaurant.”
“Don’t know any five star restaurants.”
“Okay, so you won’t know what you are missing but believe me, you’ll enjoy the hell out of it.”
Dean reluctantly stood and follows Caleb out onto the porch. Caleb hands him a knife, slender and flexible.
“Who gave you this pussy knife?” Dean asks.
“Its for filleting fish, dickwad - I’ll show you.”
“I don’t need you to show me, I’ve got this.”
Caleb gives Dean a partial scowl, “You fuck up the meat on this trout and you’ll be sorry.”
Dean squares his shoulders and eyes Caleb up balefully, “What are you gonna do about it?”
Caleb tilts his head looking like a bedraggled cocker spaniel puppy, “Not a damn thing but you will be sorry because Sammy and I will be eating fat fresh caught trout and you’ll be nibbling on pieces of fish with bones in them. It’s your call.”
Dean huffs but grabs the filleting knife and manages to follow Caleb’s lead. He does a fairly decent job on the fish and even though he won’t admit it, he can’t wait to eat the damn thing. He’s hungry and has been hungry since they left this morning. He’d forgone lunch in a futile attempt to protest his father’s dictate about not hunting. It hadn’t changed a damn thing except make him hungry.
Dean hates to admit it, but dinner is awesome.
After Caleb nods toward the dishes, “Your job kiddo, Sam and I caught the fish and made the salad.”
Dean growls, “I filleted the fish.”
“You filleted your fish. The only other option was boney fish.”
Dean shakes his head. It’s childish and stupid, he does a lot more for Sammy and himself on a routine basis but it’s the principle of the thing. He doesn’t want to be here. At all. He didn’t want the damn delicious fish dinner and he doesn’t want to do the fucking dishes.
He wants to be hunting with his father.
“Christ on a cracker, Dean. It’s three dishes, three forks and three glasses. We even cooked the fish outside so there is no pan to deal with.”
Dean stubbornly sets his jaw.
“Fine,” Caleb grabs the three plates and forks and dumps them in the sink, he turns and picks up the glasses one handed and puts them in too.
It takes Caleb all of six minutes to do the dishes and then he purposely turns his back on Dean and heads outside.
Dean feels like an idiot.
XXX
Night finds Dean trying to sleep on the bottom bunk. He can hear Sam’s rhythmic breathing above him, as slow and regular as a metronome. Sam always sleeps like that, deep and peaceful, barely aware of his surroundings. It’s something that their father has tried to encourage less of. Then again, if Sam has a nightmare…well that’s something entirely different.
The window is open and the breeze is wonderful, cool and smelling of woods with the faint hint of woodsmoke from the fire they had made earlier. It’s autumn but so far it’s been warm in the days and cool at night. It’s exactly the kind of weather that Dean loves.
The weather doesn’t seem to be helping him tonight. He pulls the covers up to his chin, and then takes them down again. He shifts to the right, then to the left, flips his pillow over and punches it for good measure. Nothing helps. Despite the breeze, the woods and everything that he should like, he doesn’t like. None of it.
Dean spends another ten minutes tossing and then makes a decision.
It takes less than five minutes for him to pull on his sweats and sneakers. It takes considerably longer to get past Caleb’s room and out the cabin. Unlike Sam, Caleb sleeps lightly, years of being on his own has made him a formidable opponent when it comes to sneaking out. Not to mention the fact that he is used to sleeping by himself and every tiny noise that Dean makes probably sounds like artillery fire to Caleb. Dean is under no illusions; sneaking out in the middle of the night would not go over well.
But Dean is good. He has been trained by the best so he makes it out into the crisp, clear air with no trouble at all.
He hits the deer trail fast. The moonlight gives him as much light as it would if he had a flashlight and his feet are sure on the rocky path.
He runs hard, pushing his body, but enjoying the fact that it can be pushed. He is like a machine when it comes to running. Sam will probably be better though, even at ten, Sam has the kind of stride that would make a cross-country coach drool. The kid may be little but he runs with the effortless grace of a person who was born to run. Dean has to work a little harder at it, but that’s okay, he beats Sammy in everything else.
The deer trail is clear but twisty so it doesn’t really surprise him that he gets a little misdirected. Not really lost, per say, because he knows north from south and where the cabin is approximately…still his midnight run has morphed into an early morning run, mostly because running away from the cabin is easy, finding his way back requires a little resourcefulness. Still, resourceful is as much a part of Winchester as the smell of gun oil so he makes it back - just a little later, or earlier maybe than he expected.
He’s not expecting Caleb on the front porch.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Caleb sounds pissed. Dean hasn’t ever heard him sound pissed. Not really.
“Running.” Dean makes his way up the steps, running his hand through his sweaty spiky hair. He does acknowledge Caleb so he figures that’s good enough.
“Running? In the middle of the night?”
“Sure why not?” Dean tries for nonchalant but he knows he’s not really pulling it off.
“Why not? - BECAUSE IT’S THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT!”
“Don’t have a damn cow, Caleb. I was running, not summoning demons.”
“Godamit! Didn’t you ever think of leaving a damn note? I had no idea where you were you were?”
Dean moves his way into the cabin’s front door, heading to the sink to draw himself a large glass of water. He is suddenly slammed with 70 pounds of Sammy.
“DEAN! I couldn’t find you!” Sammy sounds shaky and on the verge of tears.
“What is wrong with you two? I went RUNNING.”
“Damn, Dean. Just a note would have made all the difference in the world.”
Dean absently guzzles half a glass of tap water, “Yeah, well, I forgot. I’m home now, all bits accounted for and thirsty as shit so just let me suck down about 10 gallons of water and I’ll be fine.”
Caleb drops his head and toes the ground uncharacteristically looking chagrinned. His voice softens, “Sorry Dean, I didn’t know, man, just a scrawled note…”
Dean turns to look at Caleb for the first time, “What do you mean?”
Sam glares at Caleb, “He called Dad, dickwad. And he should’ve. You would’ve killed me if I up and ran off to parts unknown in the middle of the night.”
“Dad?” Dean looks uncomprehendingly at Caleb, “You called my dad?”
“Dean,” Caleb placates, “I didn’t know where you were. John was clear about keeping you safe while he was gone. If you’d let me know where you were going, I wouldn’t have panicked. Christ, knowing your dad was depending on me kind of freaked me out.”
“Freaked you out!”
“Look Dean, I’ll call him okay? Tell him you are fine; tell him I jumped the gun. He’ll be pissed as shit with me but he will understand.”
Dean slams the glass on the table, “He won’t underfuckingstand, Caleb. He’s gonna kill me and it’s all your fault!”
Caleb offers a quirked eye at Dean. “Noooo, not all my fault. Your fault. Sorry, Dean but all you had to do was let me know where you were going. Maybe it will work out, your dad is busy, I’ll just let him know you’re safe.”
Dean flops himself on one of the mismatched chairs and allows his head to fall on what passes as the kitchen table.
“I’m dead.”
Caleb picks up the wall phone, so fucking old it still has a coiled tether from the receiver to the base. It’s probably been here since Caleb’s grandfather was alive.
“John, it’s Caleb…No, no, all is good, Dean is fine.” Dean can hear his father yelling through the old phone. It might be old, but it still seems to work pretty well.
“I can let you talk to him if you want, “ Caleb offers helpfully, when the voice on the other line takes a breath.
Caleb covers the mouthpiece and mouths to Dean, “He says he doesn’t want to talk to you…it might make him upset.”
Dean is he’s pretty sure Caleb is paraphrasing.
Caleb rubs a hand over his face then turns away from Dean, “What?” He offers a furtive glance in Dean’s direction, “No. No way, John.”
The voice on the other side of the phone gets exponentially louder. Caleb speaks softer, “No, of course not. Well, yes, yes, sir…I know what that entails but…“
There is another long tirade.
“John, you can’t possibly mean that.” Caleb is trying to sound reasonable.
Caleb glances at Dean again, “John, that is not physically possible and neither Dean nor I have a horse to ride anyway.”
Dean is really pretty amazed that Caleb is speaking so calmly. Dean has felt the wrath of his father, both in person and on the phone. The distance offered by a phone call only gives an illusion of safety.
“Are you sure?” Caleb asks haltingly. Then a little lower, as if he doesn’t want Dean to hear. Which is stupid because Dean is in the same room with him, “I’m not so sure I feel comfortable doing that. I mean, this is Dean and isn’t that something you usually take care of?” There are some more loud sounds and Dean watches as Caleb nods into the phone. Then, as if he realizes who he is talking to Caleb attaches a “Yes, sir,” to the conversation eventually ending with, “Are you really sure, John?”
This time Dean can hear his father through the tinny connection, “Yes, damn it!”
Caleb cringes just a bit but honestly? Dean doesn’t blame him.
Caleb hangs up the phone quietly. Everything seems quiet really.
“Dean, I’m sorry, dude,” Caleb begins. “Your dad is riled up…. I mean he is buckets of crazy pissed,”
“What’s new?” Sam interjects.
“No, I mean entirely previously unheard of levels of pissed.”
“I dunno, “Dean concedes, “He can get pretty pissed, even on a routine basis.”
“Dude,” Caleb pinches his nose. The gesture is so unlike Caleb that it worries Dean tremendously.
“Dude, he wants me to tan your ass.”
Dean allows his head to thud solidly against the table even harder than before.
“Seriously?” Dean asks but it is a stupid question. Of course Caleb is serious. Of course his father is serious.
Caleb nods again, “So serious, in fact, that if he comes home tomorrow and your ass still isn’t feeling the effects of tonight’s ass whipping, he’s going to whip my ass and then whip yours again.”
“He’s already gonna wallop Dean again,” Sam adds helpfully, “You know…The Rule and all.”
“Shut up, Sam.” This comes from both Caleb and Dean and if they didn’t sound so absolutely miserable it probably would be funny.
Sam raises his hands in a universal sign of acquiescence and then backs up into the living room, it only takes a second for Dean to realize that he has gone to their room.
“Anybody but your dad, Dean and I’d tell them to go fuck themselves, but damn that man. I mean, he will kick my ass, just like he said he would. I’d almost take the whippin’ to save you from two but y’know; it was a pretty damn dumb thing to do. Plus, me and your old man only had a go of it once and that was more than enough for me.”
Dean eyes Caleb ruefully, “Only once? - Wuss.”
“Well, maybe I’m just a bit more trainable than you, Winchester. Besides, I think your old man licked me for a loop just because he knew he wouldn’t be back anytime soon to do it again. He kind of strikes me as that kinda man. I think he might have even said something like that before he scalded my ass…something like, ‘I don’t plan on comin’ back to do this again, boy.’ I gotta tell ya, he did make an impression on both me and my ass. “
“He has that effect on kids.”
“Kids hell, I think on everyone who’s ever crossed him. Which is why I don’t plan on doing it this time. Your old man has given me an order, fucking with your dad’s orders is suicide.”
Dean finds his head hitting the table yet again.
“Are you tryin’ to brain yourself?” Caleb queries.
“Actually, a concussion would be nice, maybe a won’t remember this night.”
Caleb reaches for his belt buckle, “Sorry, dude, you will remember.”
“Aren’t we even going to the barn?”
Caleb looks puzzled, “I guess so, I mean we can. Is that what you want?”
“What I want is not get my ass beat!”
Caleb sighs, “Believe me, I don’t want to beat it, but like I said.” He tilts his head toward the door and ultimately the barn, “You want it there?”
Dean stands resignedly, “I guess so…no use for Sam to have to hear it.”
“I’m thinking it won’t matter.”
“What are you, some kind of ass kicking machine? Do you go around beating on other kids butts for fun or something? How the hell do you know I’m gonna yell?”
“Well, your dad was pretty clear about what I needed to do and if my yelling when he beat my ass is any indication of what he expects, it’s gonna be pretty loud down in that barn.”
“Just come on and get it over with.” Dean opens the screen door. He wishes it would slam but Caleb is right behind him and catches it before it even hits. They walk to the barn, Dean just a half step ahead of Caleb. He tries to walk like he isn’t even a little bit worried, which he really is. Caleb isn’t his father and that gives him a small measure of comfort, but Caleb is strong and seems pretty damned determined.
They step from the late morning sun into the darkness of the barn. It smells of horses and goats. Strangely enough, Caleb likes goat milk, prefers it to cow milk and says they are far better weed eaters than anything you could buy at home depot.
There are three horses and a pack of goats…do goats run in a pack? Dean isn’t sure. These goats can move from the barn to the outside enclosure at will. It they have any brains in their goat heads they will leave the barn as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the horses are stuck in their stalls.
Dean turns and faces Caleb. It sure as hell is awkward. He wonders if it feels that way to Caleb too.
“Awkward.” Caleb says.
A small smile tugs on Dean’s face. Totally inappropriate for the situation overall but he feels kind of good that Caleb is struggling a bit with this too.
“Your dad said bare assed.” Caleb begins. Dean shrugs and starts to unbutton his jeans, “But I say no. I’ve seen enough of your ass in day to day dealings with you, I don’t want to see if now.”
Dean grins even wider, he and Caleb have both seen each other butt naked. It’s never been an issue, whether swimming in the local swimming hole or walking from the head to the bedroom. Dean’s never been self conscious about nudity. It helps that he looks pretty damn fine but Caleb is maybe a little skinnier than Dean would think was good looking and Caleb never cared either. Dean figures maybe it’s because he’s grown up in a car and motel rooms and privacy has never been something he’s cared about one way or another.
Dean sighs, looks around for a spot where he can lean over. There’s a likely area at the goat pen, but he wrinkles his nose at that, he settles for an empty horse stall. It’s got the bottom part shut and the top part open, it looks like he could balance himself over it without too much problem. Obviously Caleb has the same idea because he gestures in that direction and Dean shuffles the few feet to it. There are bales of hay stacked neatly in the stall and a rather gruff looking one-eyed cat sitting on top of them.
“Don’t mind him, that’s just Banger.” Caleb offers.
“Banger?” Dean questions.
“Yeah, ‘cause I think he’s knocked up half the she-cats on this mountain. And yeah, I know, I should get him fixed but the damn thing is half mountain lion and I can’t catch him.”
“Great monster hunter and you can’t even catch a half blind cat,” Dean mutters.
“Okay, shithead. After I beat your ass black and blue, how about you decide to catch him.” Then just to prove a point, Caleb offers Dean his arm, deeply furrowed with scratches. “And that’s from two weeks ago.”
Dean shakes his head. A blistered ass and a scratched up arm are not in his future. Well, the ass is, but there is not a damn thing he can do about that. He can, however, avoid a bloody arm.
Dean settles himself over the stall’s dutch door and waits for Caleb to start walloping. It seems to take a while, he can hear Caleb pull off his belt but there is not the almost simultaneous white-hot stripe that accompanies his father’s lickings.
Caleb coughs once uneasily.
“Well, get on with it! I don’t wanna wait here with my ass over this damn stall. What if one of those goats decides to make a break for it.”
“Goats? You’re afraid of goats?”
“Not really, “ Dean confesses, “But you know they have those fugly yellow eyes and you just can’t trust something with eyes like that.”
Caleb chortles and then a moment later there is the brief whistle of leather as his belt slaps hard across Dean’s butt.
“Jesus!”
“Nope! Just me!” Caleb answers and then tags him again, this time a little lower.
There is another few hard licks, not as accurately placed as a John Winchester whipping but whatever Caleb lacks in experience he makes up for with enthusiasm.
“Caleb!” Dean yelps.
“Huh? Am I not doing it right?”
“Yes, damn it just…” Dean’s statement is cut off when another strip hits his jean-clad ass, “OWE FUCK!”
“I guess I am then. I seem to remember yelling that when your old man whipped me.”
Dean pants, “You did?”
“Yeah, but then he gave me another lick for cussing. Should I do that too?”
“What? No, for Christ sakes! I’m not your son or your, whatever Dad is to you. I can fucking cuss if I want.”
Caleb grunts agreeably, obviously okay with that answer and then lays another hard lick. Dean grunts too, but for a different reason. Then there are a few more well placed smacks, each just as hard as the previous one. Finally, Caleb stops, breathing a little hard.
“Good enough?”
“Well, how the fuck am I supposed to know? “
“Well, would John stop now?”
Dean wants to say, HELL YEAH, but he’s a pretty honest kid.
“No…I guess not.”
Caleb sighs and applies two more rapid lashes of liquid fire against Dean’s ass.
“Better?”
Dean whimpers low. “No, uh yes. I think so.”
Dean hears the somewhat familiar sound of Caleb sliding his belt back through his belt hoops.
“Good. ‘M not so fond of this tanning of asses.”
Dean straightens and turns to Caleb. He wants to cry. He feels like he should - he would probably cry if his father had walloped him but he swallows down the lump in his throat, orders away the tears as if John Winchester had told him to hush. Oddly enough it occurs to him that his father doesn’t say stupid things like, “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.” Then again, the only real time that Dean cries is when he is getting his ass handed to him and that wouldn’t make any sense anyway.
He amends that thought though, he has cried when Sam has gotten his ass beat sometimes, especially if he himself hadn’t. Which is stupid too. Why cry when Sam was getting a spanking? He figures that’s because if Sam gets his butt whipped it’s usually because Dean hasn’t done his job. Not always though. Sometimes Sam really and truly earns the spanking. If that’s the case, well, Dean can muddle through the howls of his little brother without too much effort.
“Sorry, Dean,” Caleb’s voice is soft and strangely southern. It’s mountain talk and Caleb often looses the intonation when he is on a hunt. Here though, on his mountain it is more pronounced. Then again, maybe it is the stress of walloping on Dean’s ass? Dean wonders about that, why is Caleb stressed when Dean is the one nursing a blistered butt.
Dean nods, not trusting himself to speak.
“You wanna stay down here a bit?” Caleb asks quietly.
“Down in this barn with your stinking goats? Nah, I’ll take a rain check on that.”
They head back up to the house side by side. Dean notices with some satisfaction that his stride is almost as big as Caleb’s and that the older boy is not really that much taller.
“So, Dean. Is your dad really gonna whup on you again when he gets back?” Caleb asks.
“Yeah.”
“Duuude,” Caleb hip checks Dean, “I’m glad my last name ain’t Winchester.”
Dean would like to agree but the reality is he’s pretty damn happy he’s a Winchester…even if it does mean he gets his ass handed to him twice for the same damn thing.