WBY - Push (part five)
Morning broke soft and bright. It was late, far later than Jamie was used to sleeping. He must have been tired, despite how much he tossed and turned through the night. Jamie stood, and padded into the bathroom. He was thankful that Ben’s room had it’s own. A long piss and a longer shower had him feeling a little better than yesterday but not by much. He pulled on a clean pair of jeans, a soft cotton tee and a gray flannel shirt and then walked over to the window. He could see the water from here, noticed a long dock that jutted out into the river. He decided that would be his destination as long as he could make it past his father and Lisa.
The kitchen was deserted but a plate of pancakes sat on the table and there was fresh coffee in the pot. Jamie poured a cup and then noticed a note in very feminine writing.
Have gone to a neighbor’s to give her a hand this morning. Help yourself to whatever you want.
L.
He wanted the pancakes, wanted them like a heroin addict needed his fix but opted for the coffee instead, spooned in some sugar and cream, pulled on his now dry boots and headed out to the dock.
This place was beautiful, crystal ice, sparking in the morning sun with no trace of yesterday’s low hanging clouds. The river sparkled too, calm and glass like. It wasn’t as cold as yesterday, but Jamie wished he had grabbed his coat. He cradled the coffee between his hands and tentatively sipped.
It was good, strong enough to float a bullet but Jamie’s cream and sugar had toned it down to something less biting.
Jamie leaned against the pilings and took a deeper swallow, shivering a bit in the early morning chill.
He heard his father before he saw him, but didn’t bother to turn to his direction. His dad’s footsteps were as familiar as his own.
“Thought you might need this.” Dad handed him his jacket. Jamie nodded his thanks, slipped it on but continued to watch the river, not meeting his father’s eyes.
“I think we need to talk, son.” His father’s voice was low and gentle. It should have felt reassuring, usually his dad knew exactly what to say and how to say it, but right now it just felt like he was being handled. Like he was a nervous colt that needed to be gentled before slipping the bridle on.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Jamie thought he sounded resolute. Thought he was ending this conversation before it began.
He was wrong.
“Nope, there’s tons to talk about. Why don’t we start by you telling me what was your problem yesterday?”
Jamie offered a tight shake of his head with a slight curl of his lip. Dad called it the Jamie version of Uncle Sam’s bitch face. Jamie wasn’t sure about that, but it seemed appropriate to the occasion. He didn’t want to talk about Lisa Braeden and her conniving, Dad-dumping ways. It was obviously something that dad didn’t want to hear about, despite his soothing words about talking. All Dean Winchester wanted was to pretend like he had intervened in some way. Done his parental duties. Jamie was having none of it. At least not today. Not while they stood not 100 feet from Lisa Braeden’s tiny, cozy little house nestled up against a river.
No fucking way.
“We can talk here, or up at the house, but it is gonna happen so start spilling.”
Jamie knew his father really couldn’t force him to talk, but he could certainly make his life miserable if he didn’t say anything. Uncle Sam had said there was a time when he and his brother barely spoke at all. Not real talking, more like just saying what the other wanted to hear. Jamie couldn’t reconcile that Dean Winchester with the one that stood beside him now. When his father decided that something needed to be discussed he would worry it like a terrier with a bone. It was strange. Dad didn’t really want exposition or long convoluted answers though; he just wanted to know exactly what Jamie needed. Usually, he could figure it out without the dialogue but when he decided that he wanted Jamie to spill, he would wait until it happened. No matter how long it took. So really, Jamie didn’t have a choice. His father was a stubborn man and despite how pretty this dock looked in the winter, Jamie did not want to be standing here in the spring.
It was frustrating.
“I just don’t like her okay? I don’t trust her. I’m not even sure there was even a Jack in these woods. We just spent half of yesterday tromping around in the freezing cold muck for nothing.”
“We’ve done more for less, son.” His dad spoke quietly and earnestly.
It was true, they had done more for less, but that was beside the point. They had done it for Lisa.
Jamie sniffed hard, kicked at the pylon at the end of the dock. “I know.”
“Look Jamie, I know you think I’m being a hard ass about this, but I’m not. You are gonna just have to trust me. I’m putting my foot down and that’s not something I do often so you just have to man up and deal with it. Just stop being so damn stubborn.”
Jamie sputtered. “Me, stubborn? You’re just as stubborn.” Jamie pointed to the house; “I’m not going back up there so I’m glad you brought my coat down. Thanks for that at least.”
“What? You’re gonna stay out here on the dock until I’m ready to leave?”
“Yup."
“Jesus Jamie. Just grow up.” Dad took a breath. Jamie saw him pulling himself back. It was almost as if he was physically reeling in his emotions. Jamie didn’t find the fact that his father was being so bent out of shape regarding Lisa Braeden comforting. At all. “It’s…it’s complicated, “ his father explained following Jamie’s gaze out over the river. “’M just trying to help an old friend.”
Jamie exploded then, and turned to his father, green eyes blazing.
“She’s not a friend... just a fuck buddy!”
Dad grabbed Jamie’s unzippered coat and pulled him harshly toward him, popping his leg up on what looked to be old crab pots and leaned the rest of his weight against the pylon. It wasn’t optimal for Dad and Lord knew it wasn’t optimal for Jamie but despite the awkward position and the lack of solid support it didn’t stop his father from the flurry of spanks that landed hard across his denim-clad butt.
Maybe it was the already stinging cold, but his father’s hard hand felt worse than Jamie remembered it. Jamie couldn’t run or circle, a familiar tactic when getting an impromptu spanking, not only because Dad held him firmly but also they were on a dock without a lot of maneuvering room. Struggling too hard could put them both in the drink and from Jamie’s vantage point; the water looked none to inviting.
So Jamie didn’t struggle and his father didn’t stop. As usual, Jamie felt the tears prick hotly in his eyes but he wasn’t sure if it was the stinging warmth building in his freezing ass or if it was anger at the whole situation. Dad decided his cheeks had had enough and grabbed Jamie’s belt, hoisting his butt up just a bit higher to nail the underside of his ass. That little move made Jamie’s hands hit the slippery dock palms down, trying to stabilize himself. Now not only was his face cold, but his hands were freezing. And his ass was on fire. Not a pleasant situation.
Dad didn’t let up, kept the rapid-fire swats until Jamie started to really cry. Jamie couldn’t stop the sobs that came out unwanted from his chest but it was more frustration than obedience and more anger than remorse. And as if Dad knew the tears weren’t truly reconciliatory, he kept the spanking up longer than usual. Finally, Jamie shuddered hard and really cried. It was then that Dad stopped and pulled him up awkwardly from off of his leg.
“Damn it, kid. I think you wore out my hand.” Dad spoke gruffly, shaking his right hand a bit but he pulled Jamie in close and let him cry on his shoulder. Jamie did too. Getting his ass handed to him by his dad always hurt physically, but more than that, more than an ass whooping from Uncle Sam, or Gramps, it hurt his heart. He loved his father like a crushing pain sometimes. He wanted him to be proud of him, wanted him to understand why he felt like he did. And despite his father’s warm arms around him, it didn’t feel like he understood. Just like from Dad’s reaction with the spanking, it couldn’t possibly feel right for him either. Jamie snorted a bit. How in the hell could a spanking feel right? But the rightness or wrongness of it didn’t matter at the moment; his father had gotten across in a quite intimate way that he was not to speak of Lisa like that.
Jamie decided that Dad could call him on that. Just on the Winchester women principle alone. Not the rest of it maybe, but on that one point he would concede. It didn’t make him feel better though.
“C’mon, Jamie. I know you’re hungry and cold so let’s go on up and eat those pancakes. Lisa will be gone for a while, I think. Maybe we could talk a bit in the warmth of the kitchen instead of this freezing ass dock.”
“My ass isn’t freezing, Dad. I can’t help it if yours is.” Jamie looked at his hands red and still icy from trying to hold his upper body off the cold pier. “My hands are cold though.”
Dad laughed then, a bit forced perhaps but not a lie as he glanced at his right hand. “And only one of my hands are warmed up. It looks like we both could use some heat that comes from a furnace, not from swatting.”
Jamie nodded and drew a hand across his nose. It was disgusting but he didn’t have any Kleenex and between the butt pain and the cold there wasn’t much he could do about it.
Dad though handed him some tissue from his pocket. “Dude, hygiene.” Jamie smiled. It was gross.
Dad looped his arm around Jamie and tugged him in close to his hip, half dragging, and half coercing him up to the house. As usual, just having his father’s arm around his shoulders made him feel a little better. Jamie tried to think about it during the short walk to the house. About why his father was so flippin’ crazy over this. It didn’t make a lot of sense to him.
And there, on the walk to Lisa’s house, Jamie had an epiphany. This was about his dad, but not in the way Jamie had thought. Jamie didn’t like Lisa, not for what she had done to his dad, not for the pain she caused him, not for anything. But he glanced at his father and despite their recent altercation, his dad looked happy, rested and yeah even content. It was if this time with Lisa was a good thing for him. That their one night together was special for him. It occurred to him that for once, this wasn’t about Jamie and what he wanted, it was about Dad and what he wanted and needed.
Maybe that was the strangest part of it all.
But as they headed into the kitchen with the warmth and smell of pancakes and coffee Jamie decided it was worth it. Lisa, the swamp, and even the ass kicking. He didn’t understand why Dad needed Lisa or why he felt so strongly about protecting her but it didn’t matter. He was a Winchester. Winchesters had each other’s backs and if Dad needed a wingman than Jamie could do it.
Jamie thought of all the times his father had been there for him. He couldn’t count them all, never even thought of it before. Dad was just Dad. He took care of him. Looked out for him. Yelled at him, walloped him, doled out hugs routinely and even kissed him, a harsh fact that was sometimes embarrassing but more often than not was just fine. Dad was in fact, a father.
It turned out that being a son was more than Jamie had ever thought about either. It was more than just about backing his dad up in Maryland swamp during one of he coldest winters known in this somewhat southern state, it was backing him up period.
His dad was worth the overall pain in the ass this hunt had turned out to be. And Jamie decided not only was he okay with that he wouldn’t have it any other way.
End.