Not on my watch

16. Count your blessings

Warning: you'll start seeing some spanking.

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Only five days had gone by since Sam and his father had signed their personal peace treaty.

Though the sixteen-year-old was very cautious and constantly observing what was happening around him, he would have been ready to say that the new cohabitation agreement was working smoothly. He was continuing to study more than anyone would have done during a summer break – anyone but Miriam –, even if he was almost one-hundred percent sure he would ultimately have decided to give up on the idea of getting an early diploma. After talking with his father, his goal had moved from that to being able to get a full ride at all costs, and he would have needed a decent amount of time for that.

His brother, his father and Bobby, on the other hand, split their time between the cars in need of repairing and the study of possible new cases of supernatural creatures gone wild that called for their intervention. Now that both he and Sam had gone back to training under John Winchester's expert guidance, Dean looked totally at ease in their new accommodation too.

However, nobody was surprised when Dean was the first to run into the consequences of breaking the rules. Sam actually saw it coming, he couldn't avoid noticing how many little but regular warnings his brother was getting during those few days after their father's return. It looked like, now that he felt he was no longer the only thin rope keeping his father and younger brother together, Dean was allowing himself to cut loose without counting. And although it was all about some little mischief, Sam didn't like where that thing was headed. Once Dean had pushed his luck one too many times, it would have been too late to go backwards.

Dean had the first taste of it on Wednesday afternoon. When, during some research he and Sam were told to do about the preservation of different types of blood, the twenty-year-old deliberately threw a very ancient and fragile book to the ground, all accompanied by a passionate sequel of curses, Bobby's patience finally snapped.

Ignoring the boy's immediate attempt to make up for his outburst – pages had flown everywhere, on the floor of the living room –, Bobby gave no more warnings. He grabbed Dean's arm and turned him around, so that the boy could instinctively place his hands on the desk, before starting applying solid swats to his jeans-covered backside, fast and for a full minute.

Sam sat still in his chair, with his fingers pressed on the volume he was reading and his eyes wide, while Dean started squirming in Bobby's grasp, his eyes shut, though refusing to make a single sound. At the last whack, however, Dean let out a groan and that was enough for Bobby to take a break and look for the young man's watery eyes to meet his.

- I've been telling you since you were seven years old, my books are to be treated with respect. They're everything we have to help us fight those monsters, in terms of knowledge. And if we're going to need to have this conversation one more time, I promise you I'll sit on a chair, you will be in a much less comfortable position and it won't be this short of a session. Understood, lad?

Dean swallowed, trying not to get away from those angry eyes.

- Yes, sir - he croaked, feeling the humiliation burn more than anything else.

It had been a while since the last time he was punished like that, furthermore while his little brother was watching, and he felt his eyes sting for that even before Bobby gave him five more smacks for good measure.

- Good.

When the man finally let him go, Dean took a step away from him and rubbed his bottom briefly, feeling his cheeks go crimson now that he could see Sam's face too.