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Winchester Way

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"You're not fucking going anywhere, Dean."

"Who the fuck do you think you are? I know you're not my boyfriend—you've made that clear. And even if you were, you don't get to tell me what to fucking do. Only my dads get to tell me what to do."

He grabs me by the neck. Michael's stronger than I am. Not only is he bigger, but he's a fucking archangel. He doesn't need all his angel juice to throw me around like a rag doll.

"I don't give a flying fuck what you think. You're not going on this hunt Dean, so get it out of your head." Michael never needs to raise his voice to sound threatening and reminds me of, oh God, my father. He slams my head (not too hard) against the wall. And since 'Michael has spoken' he walks away like he's going to carry on with his business.

"I don't have to fucking listen to you, asshole." I make a move to leave; but his fucking eagle eyes have a way of pinning me to the spot soon as he looks up at me.

"This is how it's going to go Dean. One of my drivers is going to take you and your car home. If you try to leave on this Hunt, I will have my men drag you back here. I will proceed to use my belt on your backside 'till you can't sit down for at least a week. Am I understood?"

"Fuck you." I'll drive Baby home myself thanks—I'm not letting any of his angel dicks put their mitts on her.

Michael sighs as I'm walking towards the door, storming toward it actually. "Tom," he says and 'Tom' shuts the door and stands in front of it. My hands ball into fists. "Come here, Dean."



Fuck. I turn around and walk back to his desk. He's still not paying much attention to me, putting something into a file, thinking about something that has nothing to do with this argument.

"Pass me that over there," he says casually. I look to where his eyes gesture. It's his fucking paddle.


"Don’t make it worse."

I'm shaking a little; I know he's planning on spanking my ass because I've being a complete shithead. I grab it up and give it to him. "Thank you," he says all fucking calmly and takes it in his free hand. And yes, Tom is standing at the door, watching everything. Fucking pervert.

He puts the 'important' file down and comes around the front of his desk where I'm standing. His hands come to my jeans and I think about fighting him, I have before, but I think I've already pissed him off enough today. Not to mention his anger comes out of worry for me. Bad combo.

He shucks my jeans and boxers down, yanking my arm and placing me over his desk.

Without further conversation, he gives me ten good ones with his wooden paddle, each whack bringing me to my toes. I've had lots of spankings in my life; thought my father was the king of spankings who's certainly a close tie with Grampa Winchester, but nobody tops Michael. That's because he's a fucking archangel in case you didn't hear me the first time.

Thankfully that's all he gives me and I'm being yanked up and flipped around, he lifts me so my bare, warmed ass is sitting on his desk. He places both hands (one still holding the paddle) down on either side of me and gives me a leveling look.

I've got stupid tears in my eyes from being spanked like that, but I do feel calmer than I did before. It hurt, but it wasn't that bad.

"I don't know why you're being such a shithead today. I don't care. I've given you orders and you will obey them."

I can't look at his eyes anymore. I look down at my half hard dick. My dick can't help waking up whenever Michael's around. We've only recently begun fucking, but I've wanted him a long time and my dick is Pavlov's fucking dog around him. I always fucking crave Michael, even if I wish it were someone else.

He takes my chin with his thumb and forefinger and turns my lips so they meet with his. The kiss is warm, so unlike Michael, but fierce which is.

"I don't want anything to happen to you. Please stay where I tell you to." He doesn't say please very often.

I wipe my eyes, nodding. He pulls away from me and yanks me up by my arm leaving me to fix my clothes myself as he returns to behind his desk. He puts the paddle down.

"I don't see why you care anyway."

He looks up at me smiling. "Who would I have to be my pain-in-my-ass if something happened to you?"

"It would be a relief for you."


Dick. Angels are dicks. "May I leave now? And can I please drive Baby home myself? I don't want 'them' touching my car."

I give him the Dean eyes, the ones he pretends to be impervious to, but isn't.

"Fuck. Fine. Drive your car home, but someone will be following you, so I'd go straight home if I was you."

I want to punch him in his stupid face.

As I drive away, very aware of the angel assholes leading and following me and equally aware of my slightly warm backside, I pull out my phone. I text Uncle Jared and tell him they're going to have to do this one without me—he's better at explaining things to Uncle Jensen than I am and besides, I know Uncle Jen will call me and find a way to convince me.

But there's no way I can go. Not when Michael's this set against it. And sometimes… well he's really fucking scary when he gets into one of his homicidal rages over me (not that I think he'd hurt me, other than spanking that is). I thought my parents were weird with their relationship, turns out no one has it on Michael and I. Don't let that kiss fool you, we are very much not together. It's understood that we fuck others, but it's also understood that Michael's the fucking boss of whatever the hell our relationship is.

I want to start Hunting again, at least I think I do. Not now, but someday. This hunt was just a small one; good for training, conditioning; feeling things out. It would have been a quick in and out. Of course I wasn't going to tell my fucking parents, 'till after. I didn't tell Michael for that matter—him I wasn't planning on telling at all. He somehow found out like he always finds everything out about me and had his fucking goons drag me to his place.

Not literally. It was much like it is now. I drove Baby, they followed in front and behind me. Then they dragged me up to Michael.

I pull up at home, trying to cool down, so Daddy doesn't see how pissed I am. But give up and decide to just go inside since there's little chance of him not figuring me out anyway.

I park Baby, grab my school bag and storm inside. Daddy gives me an amused look when he sees me slam myself down at the kitchen table. He pours me a glass of juice. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Fudging Michael."

He laughs. "Let's eat pie and play some crib and you can tell me all about it. If you haven't calmed down by the time your father gets home, he'll go over there again."

I should let him. So long as I get to watch. My father telling Michael off is always priceless and brings a smile to my face.

He sets us up with said pie and crib board and maybe because I'm feeling both reckless and suicidal today I tell him what happened. "I wanted to go on a hunt, a small one with Uncle Jared and Jensen."

"Dean. You're only seventeen; we talked about this. You promised you'd wait until you were twenty-one and that you'd discuss it with us."

"I know and I will. I just wanted practice—conditioning, you know."

"I don't like that you were going to go behind our backs, Sur."

"I know. I'm sorry, Daddy. I just, I knew you'd both be dead against it. And I just…"

"It's just a part of you, isn't it baby boy?" Daddy's a lot more understanding than Father's going to be. He's probably going to skin my hide when Daddy tells him, 'cause he will tell him.

I nod. He gets fucking tears in his eyes. "Awww, don't cry Daddy. I'm sorry. I won't do it—besides, I can't if I wanted to. Michael won't let me either."

Daddy wipes his eyes. "Sorry. You're just—you grew up too fast, Dean."

"I'm always going to be your son, Daddy. Don't worry." I hate when he worries about me—I worry about him all the time. Suddenly I'm glad Michael stopped me (but I'm not going to fucking tell Michael that) I've just gotten a glimpse on how much it would have broken Daddy's heart. I think I would have hated myself forever.

"I know, sweetheart. But back to Michael. Are you mad because he stopped you? 'Cause I have to say, I want to phone and thank him. I think your father and him would find themselves agreeing for once."

I'm going to use that line next time I see Michael; it will freak him the fuck out to have him realize he actually agreed with Castiel Winchester for once. "Well, yeah. Naturally. But it's just, I want to be with him. And he still doesn't want to be with me. I know we have this open relationship sort of deal set up and I liked it, I did—but he already tells me what to do all the time anyway, I wish he'd just… be mine."

"Oh Sugar. He is yours."

"And the better part of the Californian male population's," I mutter as I make my move on the crib board.

"Let him get it out of his system and have patience," Daddy tells me. It's so not what he's supposed to be telling me. I pretty much stated that Michael's a man whore. The standard 'motherly' advice is to tell me to forget him; break it off; never see him again. But my parents have been in a similar spot—they know how tied together Michael and I are; that telling me never to see Michael again would be useless.

We play a few more rounds of crib and eat another helping of pie before the home phone rings. I feel like we shouldn't even have a home phone anymore. Daddy answers it, his eyes go wide.

"It's Michael," he mouths to me.

I make a motion like he should hang up on him. Daddy rolls his eyes. Michael must be saying something, 'cause Daddy's just listening to him. "Yeah, just a second Michael," he says.

He mutes the phone. "He wants to come for dinner," he says, muting his voice like he did the phone.

Yeah. He probably wants to make sure I'm not going anywhere. "Tell him I'll be out with a friend tonight."

"I'm not going to piss him off Dean. Like that's going to go over well. Do you want me just to tell him not to come?"

Michael will show up whether we tell him to or not; it would be a nice fuck you to get Daddy to tell him no, since he's not stupid and knows Daddy is checking it through me. But I've already pissed him off enough today. "He can come."

When Father arrives home he breezes in the door and I run to him like I would have when I was littler. "Hey Papa! Good day at the office?" We hug, but he looks up at Daddy over my shoulder.

"What did my loving son do this time?"

I part with him and he moves on to greet Daddy with a sappy kiss like always. "I resent that. I can't be affectionate without being suspected of a crime?"

"Do you want to tell him, or should I?" Daddy asks. Father gives me a pointed look.

"I tried to go hunting with Uncle Jen and Jared."

His dark look makes me want to fucking run, but I remain seated as I am and look at my feet.

"You're grounded."

Yeah. Saw that one coming. "Yes, sir."

"We talked about it Cassy. He's going to keep his promise."

"Yeah. Until the next time. Whose idea was it? Theirs?"

"Mine, sir."

Father peels off his coat hanging it and sits down at the table with me. He shakes his head disappointed in me. I fucking hate disappointing him. "He fessed up, Cas. And you'll never believe who knocked sense into him."

That's Daddy trying to smooth things over before Father loses it. I join in, meeting his eyes. "Michael."

"Michael stopped you?"

"Yeah. You like him now?" I give him the most charming look I can muster. I get a small smile out of him.

"Michael better hope I never find an angel blade." He reaches over to steal the rest of my pie.

"Hey! Get your own pie."

He takes it and starts to eat it anyway. "Shouldn't you be making up for something? I think a little loss of pie is the least of your worries."

The doorbell rings. Perfect. Fucking Michael. "I'll get it," I say even though Donald will actually get it. Mad as I am at Michael, I'm kind of hoping to get a hello kiss from him.

Donald's already taking his long black coat. "See. I'm still here. You can go now."

He turns his dark, icy eyes on me. "It's not smart to antagonize me right now, Dean. Come here."

I go to him knowing I'll get the kiss I want. I'm right. Soon as Donald's gone, he pulls me to him and sticks his tongue down my throat, I respond rubbing my cock into his; he smiles into my lips. "Down, boy."

I laugh. "Why are you here?"

"The reason you thought."

"You could have just called Sam."

"'Cause you're a pain in my ass—you fucking scared me." I'm learning that's Michael for: 'You scared the fucking shit out of me so I couldn't stop thinking about you; I needed to feel your solid form again.' "Next time, you won't get off with a few licks with my paddle; I can tell you that." He smacks my ass again and pulls me in for another kiss.

"Jesus Michael..."

"I should have fucked you earlier, but I was pissed. I need you Dean."

"Parents… Home…" I remind him between kisses.

"Fuck. You're coming back to my place then."

"Can't. Grounded."

"How could you have done something in so little time?"

"I told them about the Hunt."


I take his hand and lead him through to the kitchen. "Hello Mr. and Mr. Winchester," he says with a smile to Father, that's more of a 'look at what I've got' kind of smile, since we're holding hands.

Father says nothing. Daddy on the other hand has always been kind to Michael. "Hi Michael. Thanks again for saving our boy from his own stupidity."

"Hey," I say letting go of Michael's hand, deciding to sit beside Father—it will calm him down a bit.

"Well. It was stupid Dean. I think you've been taking too many pages from your Uncle's books," Daddy says.

"I agree entirely Mr. Winchester. Are they about? I'd like a word with them."

"It's a Winchester family matter. There's no need for you to speak with them," Father says. I want to laugh. So it begins.

"Of course, sir." Which means he does agree it's a Winchester family matter, but because I'm his business too, he'll still speak with them later whether Castiel likes it or not.

"Dinner's going to be served shortly. Let's move into the dining room," Daddy suggests feeling the tension tug. It's always like this. We've all accepted it.

We move into the dining room and that's about the same time the doorbell rings for the second time. We all look at each other and know each other well enough to read each of our expressions and determine that none of us are expecting anyone.

Uncle Jensen storms into the room like a tidal wave; Uncle Jared is looking at us all apologetically—there's no stopping his twin; he's clearly tried all the way here. "Now see here, Cas. We want to take Dean on this hunt—it's a simple in out. Just a Vamp who doesn't realize humans aren't chew toys. It's not like he hasn't done it before."

Michael is fucking lasering me with his eyes, probably thinking Uncle Jensen means 'this' life, Father knows what he's referring to, but doesn't give a fuck how many vamps I beheaded in my last life, and Daddy's trying to keep from laughing.

"He's not going with you," Father and Michael say at the same time then glare at the other.

"What is that piece of angel scum doing here?" Yes we all know Michael's an angel. No Uncle Jensen still doesn't like him.

Michael's up and approaches Uncle Jen with a great big fuck you smile. "This angel scum is making sure you idiots don't get him killed. I don't want Dean involved with hunting, ever again; am I clear?"

"I'll be the one to say what Dean can and cannot do," Father says, even though father would probably rather not have me hunting either.

"Fine. You guys can Lord over him now, but when he's an adult, what will you do then?" Uncle Jensen asks.

"When Dean's an adult, he can make these choices, but at current he's still in school and we'd like him to finish; alive, thank-you." That's Father.

"I can," Michael says.

"You can what, fuckface?"

"Jensen, Colt."


"I can stop him and I will. He doesn't need to hunt anymore—he's got you two idiots to do it for him," Michael says.

"I can't even believe this. Sam?" That's Uncle Jensen.

"Oh no. Not my territory. I think we've settled that at least for the time being Dean is not going on this hunt with you." He puts a hand up to Michael to forestall any of his comments—Michael listens to Daddy. "Now, y'all sit your butts down and join us, we're going to have a nice meal. And if I hear the word hunting uttered again from any of you, I'm getting out my bar of soap. Understood?"

Daddy gets five simultaneous 'yes sirs,' and a smile from Father. "Good. Let's eat."


Father was easy on me—only two weeks. He respected that I came clean. He lectured me pretty good, but it was after Daddy had a chance to talk with him, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Anyway, this jaybird is free, so I'm going out.

"What time is your curfew?" Father asks me like he doesn't know. He's the one who made it. Much as Daddy claims to be in one hundred percent agreement with him, I know curfews aren't Daddy's style. I slyly found out from Nana Colt that he never even had one. Besides, 'curfew' has Winchester written all over it.

"One am?"

"Try again."

"You know, I'm seventeen now; yet I notice my curfew's still the same as when I was sixteen. Shouldn't there be some kind of renegotiation?"

"Huh. Sam," he says conversationally to Daddy. "I thought Dean wanted to go out tonight, but it doesn't sound like it anymore."

Daddy gives me his 'quit it, sur, before you get yourself into trouble I can't get you out of' eyes.

"All right. All right. Midnight."

"Good, boy. We'll see you then. Have fun."

Not even a curfew can ruin my mood for tonight—I've got my hands on my first fake ID, well, in this life. I've decided I'm going to a (mostly) male bar with my friend Hannah. Yeah, she's a chick, but she's pretty much my only friend. Sure I attend lots of parties and am socially-social if you get me, but I prefer keeping to myself on a more personal level. It's one of the many reasons Daddy worries about me, but I've never really had friends. Besides, I've got so many family members, who needs'em?

As you can imagine, Daddy fucking loves Hannah. She's (close) to my age and a girl who goes to my high school. I pick her up in Baby. "Hey Dean."

She looks amazing. Hannah's hot. And yeah, I've hit that. Behind the bleachers at a football game. It was good sex, but we realized we were better friends; she's super cool and has a major crush on the football captain. She knows I'm in love with Michael and obsessively like to be where he is. It's why I'm headed to Babylon at all.

Unlike me, Michael has friends. Some of them not even angels; he actually prefers not to hang out with angels and considers angels 'business.'

And Michael is strictly into men, in case you wanted to know. It fucking bugs him when I sleep with women, but since we're not together, there's shit all he'll actually say about it.

We have no problem getting in. The bouncers at the male clubs (women aren't banned from them, but it's where men go to fuck men, so women usually don't come) are a little more lax, so long as you have something that looks legit. And ours are super legit. I had Uncle Jared make'em up for me, but he says he's denying everything if Daddy finds out. Fair enough. He slipped them to me after dinner, the night of the botched hunt. At least something good came out of that.

When we're in, we get drinks and I scout Will and Marcus at the bar on the other side. "Hey fellas."

"Dean? What are you doing here?" Marcus asks.

"Michael's gonna flip. Does he know you're here?" Will asks.

"Fuck him." Okay yeah I'm here for him and Hannah knows it, doesn't mean I'm going to let them know it. "We came to have a good time. Right Hannah?"

She laughs knowing me well. "Right."

"Well if you are looking for Michael—which I wouldn't if I were you—he's in the back room."

That's where everyone fucks in case you don't know. "Not looking for Michael. C'mon Hannah, let's go dance." Maybe I'll suck someone off in the back room right next to him.

"You know Dean, fuck that guy. Find someone else and fuck them in the back room. I dare you."

"I'm with you sister," I say. Hannah's the best.

We do dance, 'till we're ready for another drink and I spot Michael coming out of the back room, finally. I've changed my mind. I do want him to know I'm here. "I'll get you a drink," I tell Hannah, she sees Michael and gives me an 'are you sure' look.


I slide in beside him at the bar counter, "hey handsome. Buy you a drink?"

He turns his deep eagle eyes on me; he's displeased. "Dean? What are you doing here? I thought Papa Winchester grounded you."

"I was sprung."

"Not for long. Wait 'till I tell him."

"You're going to call Castiel? That I'd like to see."

"I'll call Sam."

"What's the matter? Afraid I'll fuck someone hotter than you?"

He smiles. "There is no one hotter than me, Duckling."

I narrow my eyes at him. I hate when he calls me that—even if it's a bit true. I've been following him around in one form or another since I was about two. "Well the way I see it, ain't no place safer for me to be than with your two eyes on me. I won't drink much—gotta drive anyway—and I've got to be home by curfew, so I figure at least I can come here to dance, and have a fuck or three. The best part being, you don't have to worry your pretty little head about me."

"Fine. You may stay, so long as you follow those rules—you did make them after all."

I nod. He's always 'concerned' when I'm out at parties and texting me every few hours. I knew he'd accept my argument.

"And tonight Dean, I get to be one of those fucks."

Jesus Christ my dick's hard.

"How'd it go?" Hannah asks when he's walked off with some twink.

"Better than those two jerk offs thought; he doesn't mind me being here. I think they were just jealous. Everyone wants to fuck Michael; I'm the only one he's ever fucked more than once." I don't tell her how it actually is. I tell Hannah most things, but we haven't really got to the whole conversation on 'I come from a domestic discipline household and while the guy I'm madly in love with isn't with me-with me, we unofficially have that going as well.' Seriously. How do you have that conversation with anyone? If you have any ideas, let me know. Would be much appreciated.

Hannah ends up befriending Marcus and Will when I'm off dancing with this hot dark-haired kid. "Hey Sugar," I whisper in his ear. "What say you, we take this back there?"

I gesture toward the back room then lean in to kiss him. That's when Michael cuts in. "Fuck off. Beat it." He says to the kid. I'm fucking confused as the kid scampers off knowing not to challenge the likes of Michael.

"What the fuck, dude?"

He starts dancing with me like he didn't just chase away my dance soon-to-be fuck partner. "I don't like this Dean."


"Watching you… with others."

"Yeah, it fucking sucks doesn't it?"

"Is that what this is? You're getting back at me?"

"No. Just an added bonus."

"I don't do relationships; you know that and you know why."

"Because you like to fuck everything that moves. But you can't expect me not to fuck if you're not going to make me the same promise." He's become just the tiniest bit more possessive since we started fucking. And he might know I'm a man whore, but apparently watching me with my conquests is a whole other thing.

He growls. "Dean."

"Fine. I'll leave, but I get my own night here. Saturdays."

"That's the best night."

"It's the only night I can come here at the moment."

He thinks on it a moment then huffs. "You don't have to leave. I'll get over it."

Like fuck he will.

"Just… be with me tonight?" He asks.

I pretend to think about. It's a novelty he's even asking. "I guess so, but just tonight."

He grabs my hand. "C'mon. I'll buy you a drink, then I'm fucking your brains out."

Mission accomplished.

"I see you found your jail-bait boyfriend Mikey," Marcus yells over the music. Why Michael hasn't killed that guy yet I'll never know. I look younger than Michael and well I'm a whole lot younger than Michael considering he's as old as time, but he looks twenty-fiveish and I definitely look like I'm in my late teens. But since I age slower than everyone else, thanks to Crowley, we don't really know how old I am either, so my parents give me a birthday about every year and a half. Try to figure that one out. I just go with it; it's too fucking confusing and gives me a headache when I try to solve the riddle. I leave all of that completely up to Daddy.

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Oh. Well then I'd like a turn with him when you're done," Marcus teases, stupidly. Suicidally.

Michael grabs his throat. I think he's deciding where to start slicing him up first.

"It was a joke—a bad one. I'm sorry," he says. Michael lets him go. He still wants to kill him.

"Second though, tell your girlfriend we're leaving and we'll take her home. You're coming to my place—I'll have someone drive your car to my condo," he says in my ear.

I glare at him. He knows I hate when angel dicks drive Baby. "I don't want to hear about it Dean."

Yeah—he just needs to get out of here before he offs someone; maybe I'll let it go for now; not a good time to argue with him.

Hannah doesn't mind leaving, but does comment it was the shortest club night ever—I have to agree, but tell her not to worry, we'll have many more.

By the time we reach his condo, he can barely keep his hands off me. "Fuck, Dean. I'm going to shove my cock in you so hard," he says between licking and nipping any free skin he can find. He pulls me to his bed and makes short work of my clothes. Before long my cock is in his mouth.

"I'm going to cum, Mi-Michael."

He slaps my thigh. "Wait."

Fucking bossy asshole.

He flips me over and after a round of preparation, his cock's inside me. He proceeds to pound the living shit out of me. "You fucking… little… whore…" he says between rounds of pounding. "Nibbling on that kid. Don't you want a man Dean?"

"Guess I should go find one then. You're not even really human."


I laugh. His fingers dig deep into me, probably leaving bruises. We both cum, then collapse on his dark blue cotton sheets, panting and tangled together.

"Here's the deal," he says as I'm getting dressed. He's still naked and lighting a cigarette—fucking angels, don't have to worry about lung cancer and shit. "You may come to Babylon, we both fuck whoever we want; but never the same fuck twice. We're not going to be lovey fucking dovey, like your parents and I am not your boyfriend, remember that."

Yeah. I got that.

"Also, no names or numbers exchanged."

"Fine. But I want some stuff too. Your lips are mine, Michael. You don't kiss anyone on the mouth, but me. Same for me."

"You demanding little shit." He's smiling though.

"And you come for Sunday dinner—every Sunday."

"Every Sunday?"

"Every. Fucking. Sunday."

"Fine. You're a pain in my ass."

"Damn right." I lean in and kiss the lips that are just mine.

Chapter Text

My Sunday starts out pretty fucking good. We have a nice breakfast; Church is decent. I remember last night and Michael's promise; but we'll see if he actually follows through.

"What are your plans today, Dean Bean?"

Anyone who makes fun of me for my daddy calling me nicknames can taste fucking blood when I knock their teeth backward. Daddy can call me whatever he wants, for as long as he wants. So shut your piehole.

"Nothing. Michael's coming for Sunday dinner. He might just be around every Sunday dinner from now on."

"Oh really?"

"Yes?" His tone of voice makes me say that like a question—in hindsight, I probably should have asked.

"Are you trying to give Cas a heart attack Dean?"

"No, sir." I know he's kidding. Kind of.

"You do know what that means in this family, right?"

"I hadn't forgot."

"Does Michael know?"

"Well… he doesn't not know, but he doesn't know-know."

"So, no."

"If I told him, he'd never agree to it."

"Your father's going to have kittens for nothing. Do you think that's fair?"

"It won't be for nothing. Michael and I will end up together one day—I know it."

"You're right Dean. No problem. You just have to convince his father, to allow him to marry a human."

"It could happen."

"You don't know that."

"You told me you started going for Sunday dinners at Gramma and Grampa's when you were sixteen, well before you and Father were married—you couldn't know you would get married then either, anything could have happened. It only matters that the relationship is, serious," I argue.

"Okay, fair enough Pumpkin. You don't have to be heading towards marriage, but can you tell me the relationship is serious?" Daddy's got his kind, concerned voice on.

Well it did get kind of serious for Michael and I last night. Our agreement may be unconventional, but it's an agreement none-the-less. "Very. I love him, Daddy." Okay, now there are fucking tears in my eyes.

"Okay. Okay, sweetheart. I'm sorry—I just; don't want you to get hurt when what you think will happen, doesn't. I know you love each other, it's just hard to say if you'll ever be able to get married. Sunday dinners are for—"

"Family. I know. But don't you think Michael's family by now? He's known me since I was a baby; he's saved my life countless times. Even if we never get married; isn't what we have enough to be considered serious?"

Daddy sighs. "It is, baby. It is—I just don't know if your father will agree."

"He will. I'll get him to see."

"You're his only son too—he worries about you, constantly."

That's a fucking understatement. Between him and Michael; I don't know who's worse.

"And even if you can convince your father, what about Grampa Winchester? He isn't going to like it all if he hears you're not going to marry. Sure it's not an immediate problem, but you're asking your father to deal with a future avalanche. Are you okay with that Dean?"

"Grampa'll make an exception for me; he always does." Of course he'll only give in after a wicked lecture to Father, but Father's used to it by now. He can handle it.

And speaking of Winchesters, Father walks into the kitchen. "What are we discussing? It looks serious."

"Dean would like to have Michael come for Sunday night dinners—every Sunday night dinner." Daddy saves me by phrasing it as the question it should have been. He stresses the every because it's not like Michael hasn't been for Sunday night dinner, but the way we're talking about it, is a whole lot different from the casual way Michael's attended before.

Father goes quiet as a stone. "You're too young—" That argument dies off as he realizes him and Daddy were younger than I am now when Daddy began Sunday night dinners at the Winchester's.

"Aha! He's too old."

"He's an archangel, Papa. He's like, a million years old. He's too old for anyone."

"So we agree then. He's too old."

"Be serious Papa," I say a bit exasperated. He's not even trying to give me a good reason, he's just saying 'no,' nicely.

"Do you plan on marrying this boy, Dean?"

Okay, now he's serious, but I think I wish he'd go back to the other voice he was using. Father's 'serious' voice always makes me just the littlest bit flustered. Especially when I know I won't have a satisfactory answer for him. "Well, no. But we're going to be together forever."

"In that case, absolutely not."

I ball my hands knowing I should shut up now. I've learned the hard way, he doesn't take kindly to being argued with, once he's given you his ruling. Period.

But it's something I really want, so I risk it and push, but I a little bit chicken out and turn to my other parent. "Daddy?"

"I thought you had this one, Pumpkin Butter?"

Way to throw me under the bus, Daddy. I'm willing to beg if I have to. "I love him, Father. Just like you love Daddy. This is probably going to be the only way I'll ever have more with him." I wipe away another fucking tear; doesn't anyone get it by now?

I expect him to send me to my room, or something, a telling off in the least, but instead, he pauses, thinking; he looks to Daddy and they talk about me without words. Sometimes I can read their conversations and sometimes I can't; this one is Greek to me. "All right, Dean. He may attend Sunday dinners."

I almost can't fucking believe it. "Thanks, Papa." I'm quick to give him a thank-you hug. Don't make fun. I know he's making some kind of big exception for me, an exception from the 'Winchester code' that Grampa will rake him over the coals for. It's a big fucking deal and I'm grateful.

"Hold it there, Cowboy," Daddy says.

Crap. "What?"

"I have a condition."

I'm pretty sure I know what he's going to say; I play dumb. "You do?"

"You tell him what Sunday dinner means, Sur."

Yep. That's what I thought. Fuck. This is going to be over before it starts.


"Your father's going to treat this formally—like how Grampa Winchester did when I went for Sunday dinners, you know that right?"

"Yah, I know."

"Then how did you think you would get away without telling him?"

"Look, this isn't news to either of you, but I'm going to… I'm the 'you' in Michael's and my relationship and from the stories you've told me about you and Father, we're a little farther along in that department. I didn't think there was much else for him to know." I'm fairly open with my parents. I love and respect them to death, their opinion is important to me. Doesn't mean I don't 'pull a Dean Winchester' every now and again—which gets me into trouble—but I probably don't 'hide' as many things from them as most 'kids' do. Um, except obviously my fake ID. Yeah, we're going to keep that one in the vault for a little while.

"Oh Dean," Daddy shakes his head like he can't believe how ridiculous I am. "We're a domestic discipline family—he still has to agree to eventually submit to your father and to Grampa Winchester when he visits."

"What? But Michael's clearly the Head of House, so to speak—I understand why you submitted to Grampa, but I didn't think it was the same for Michael because of his role." Okay now I'm freaking out a bit.

"Do you see why you should talk to Daddy before you jump off bridges, sweetheart?"

I nod. "I'll cancel it. There's no way he'll agree to any of that." It won't just be about me; and I know it. He's already got one 'master' he has to obey. There's no way he'll agree to two more. Truth is, Grampa Winchester is older, and not around a lot, but father is and father hates Michael. I'm sure he'll make Michael's life living hell if he can.

"I'm sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to rain on your Dean parade."

"No. It's okay. You're right as usual."

"C'mere Dean Bean."

I practically run to his arms for a hug—Daddy gives the best fucking hugs.

A little while later, I'm staring at my phone. I've got to tell Michael he doesn't have to come—he'll be fucking pleased anyway, I don't know why it's taking me so long to tell him—I was just fucking excited I guess. It was nice to hear him agree even if he didn't know what he was agreeing to. Finally I text him: 'Don't worry about the Sunday night dinners thing—that's off.'

I mull over that for a few minutes before I finally push send. Good. That done makes me feel a little better and worse at the same time.

Suddenly, my phone is ringing. It's Michael. Fuck. I don't want to deal with his bullshit right now. I push the button that makes it go straight to voicemail. He calls again. I let it go to voicemail again. Then I get a text: Answer your fucking phone now, Dean.

I text: I'm busy asshole.

He replies: I'll be over in a few.

Fuck. I call him. "Don't come over here."

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Look, everything's still the same, just, you don't have to come for Sunday dinners. I thought you'd be fucking happy about that."

"I'll see you later, Dean." He hangs up. Fuck my life.

I get in my fucking car and drive to his condo, hoping he's there. He is. Tom let's me in, but warns me, "sir, I think you'll want to wait in here—he's… busy at the moment."

Yeah. I know what fucking 'busy' means. "How long's he going to be busy? I don't have all fucking day."

The door to his bedroom slides open, a dude doing up his pants walks out backwards as Michael kisses his neck. Michael's only got a pair of jeans on. I do my best not to fucking care—this is what we do, this is who we are. "Bye David," he says.

'David' smiles at Michael—David's in love; everyone falls in fucking love with Michael, and almost trips over the air as he stumbles, drunken on that love. Then he sees me.

"Who the fuck is this, Michael?"

"None of your fucking business. Get out."

"Bye." I smile and wave. Dick.

He leaves, but he doesn't like me, I can tell. I probably won't lose sleep over that.

"Now what the fuck are you doing here?"

"I came to talk to you about tonight. You don't need to come."

"I want to," he says stepping down from the altar his 'bedroom' sits on and walking over to his fridge and grabbing a beer. Michael likes beer. Apparently most angels don't have particular affections to food, but Michael does. He thinks it's from living with so little grace for so long.

He won't want to come to dinner when I tell him. "Look. I shouldn't have invited you to that in the first place—it was stupid. We're not together, like you said. Sunday dinners are for… family."

He freezes. "Okay. Glad we sorted that out. I'll be by at five; I'll bring white wine. Now leave. I've got someone coming by."

"Michael. I'm fucking serious. Don't fucking come."

"If you tell me why."

Let's pause here for a second so I can explain to you why this is so fucking hard to explain to him. Because from what you've seen, he disciplines me and I let him. Except he's not my dominant, he's certainly not my husband; he's not even really my boyfriend. More over, while I may tell him to fuck off every five minutes, and am constantly looking for loopholes in certain rules he's 'mentioned' in passing, I do obey his orders, like to the fucking 'T.' I hate when he's mad at me, for real mad at me, instead of our constant state of bickering. In many respects, it resembles my father and daddy's relationship, uh, except all the bickering. Daddy would never bicker with Father.

And there's no formality to it. It's not official. There's this feeling that neither of us are committed to the other while at the same time we're so fucking committed… we're like peanut butter and jelly committed. You know? Peanut butter and honey tastes okay, we all like peanut butter and nutella, but at the end of the day, peanut butter and jelly is where it's at. Peanut butter might have fun with the others, but peanut butter always comes home to jelly.

If I use the word 'domestic,' I'm afraid he'll fucking flip and send me away—he's done it before. It will seem official and Michael doesn't do official.

"It's no secret to you how my parents are—father is, well he makes all the rules. It's an agreement Daddy and him have; they made it a long time ago."

"I don't have time to talk about this, Dean. I already know all of that, get to the point."

"You only invite a significant other to every Sunday dinner in my family, someone you're serious about, someone who's willing to make… a pledge of sorts."

"We aren't serious."

"I know. Which is why it was stupid for me to invite you in the first place. Look, I already said you don't have to worry about it."

"What kind of a pledge Dean?"

"I don't know exactly. My father would explain that in full, but it would involve you…submitting to him, deferring to him in some way, not fully now, but eventually—"


"I know. I'm sorry."

"Get the fuck out."

"Michael, please."

"Tom. Throw Mr. Winchester out and make sure he gets to his car. Do not allow him back on the premises."

"Michael, please!"

"Get. Out."

Tom opens the door. A dude, already shirtless, is standing there. "Oh, perfect. My one o'clock," Michael says. "Send him in."

"Who's this?" Buddy asks looking at me.

"No one."

"Fine. Fuck you, Michael."

"No. He's going to do that."

"Good. Enjoy your fucking self. I will too! Maybe I'll find someone I actually mean something to."

"Tom. Remove him. Now."

"Don't worry Tom. I'm going."

"Who was that?" I hear as I'm leaving.

"No one. Just my fucking stalker."


I try to get past Daddy when I get home, cause I don't want him to see me fucking crying, but he's waiting for me.

"Awww… Sweetheart. I'm sorry."

"He kicked me out. It's over."

"He's just mad."

"No. I think he meant it this time."

He sighs. "This is my fault baby boy. I'm sorry."

"No way. This isn't your fault. You were just right, he needed to know what Sunday dinner means—It's better this way. I'm just upset now, but I'll get over him."

"He'll come around; always does."

"Maybe I don't want him to this time."

Daddy's trying real hard to keep his cool for my sake, but I can tell even he wants to go knock some sense into Michael this time. "Go'on up and wash your face. I could use a hand in the kitchen."

"You made your special pot roast didn’t you?"

"Only because your father said I could."

Meaning tonight was special to him too, even though he hates Michael. "Good riddance—Michael's a dick."

Daddy swats my ass. "Dean Winchester."

"Well he is and I'm not sorry."

"If I hear any more like that I'm going to make you sorry, Sur."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, sir."


During dinner, I have to explain what happened with Michael to father in a way that won't send him into a homicidal rage. He's quiet a long time and he simply looks… disappointed.

"What? No, I told you so's Dean? No happy dances you'll never have to see that jerk again?"

"I'll hate anyone who wants to be with my little boy—no one's good enough—but I know you love him Dean. I could never gloat about being right when it's something that's hurt you so, Angel. He doesn't fucking deserve you." Michael being an angel hasn’t tarnished his nickname for me. It's like it means something different when he uses it for me.

Daddy gives him a warning look for his cursing, but knows now's not the time to say anything. Father's offering me kind words, but he wants to kill Michael for hurting me—I think this time Daddy'd let him.

"Thanks, Papa."


Two weeks pass. I don't speak to Michael. Sure I see glimpses of him at Babylon, but that's fucking it. I can only really go on Saturdays without my parents becoming suspicious, but it's enough times to get my fuck on—the best way to get over someone… is to get over someone. Right?

That's what I'm doing in the backroom currently and what I did last Saturday. I'm in the middle of a really great cock suck, when said cock suck is ripped off my dick. "Fuck off." A low growl says. It's Michael. Did you expect any less?

The guy runs. He slams his hand against the marble by my head, hard; it cracks and spiders. Michael doesn't have a lot of angel juice, but it's enough to make him a little stronger and a little more durable than a human. It's why he won't get cancer or other diseases, but he can still be hurt if you hit him hard enough. He won't die though, unless you kill that small bit of grace inside of him with an angel blade. Michael is technically an archangel—least he was created as such, but he's too weak to really be considered that now. A regular angel blade could kill him. It's enough that I fear him the teeniest, tiniest bit. Of course that fear only serves to fucking excite me.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Now that I see him up close, I can see that he doesn't look so good, which is fucking weird. I mean, even with the low level of grace Luci-dick allows him, I've never seen Michael look less than perfect—well, excluding all the times he shows up beat up when he's had to go do angel stuff, sent by said dick. He actually looks… burnt out.

"I was getting my cock sucked, what did it look like I was doing?"

He tries to kiss me; and it's all I've fucking wanted for two god damned weeks, but I've got to push him away. I have to struggle though, 'till he realizes his advances are unwanted—I usually always want him, even after we fight, but this time I'm still pissed. "What's wrong with you?"

"Get the fuck off me."

He releases me, but his dark eyes follow my movements.

"You kicked me out, or has your perfect angel brain malfunctioned?"

"I've changed my mind."

I start doing up my pants. "I haven't. I fucking hate you. I never want to see you again." That's not fucking true; he knows it.

"How many guys have you fucked?"

"None of your fucking business."

That enrages him. "You are my fucking business, Dean. You'll always be my fucking business, whether you want to be, or not."

Everyone's staring at us. "Fuck off, Michael." I start to walk away.

"Walk away from me and I'll have them drag you to my place—it won't be pleasant."

By 'them' he means his thug angel dick mafia.

"Get them to fucking drag me to your place. I'll just sit there, and not fucking talk to you."

"Least I'll know you're okay."

"It's almost my curfew anyway." It's not really, but it's probably the only thing that'll get him to not drag me to his house. "I'm going home, Michael."

I'm right. He let's me walk past him.


On Sunday, Father, Daddy and I are just sitting down to dinner when the doorbell rings. We all shrug at each other and have equal looks of shock when Michael strolls through the door. He's not his usual well-groomed self. He's really let his vessel go; a five o'clock shadow instead of his usual clean shaven face, an untucked shirt with more buttons undone than my father would consider appropriate for Sunday dinner; he's even got bags under his eyes and his hair is clearly 'I just had sex hair.' For a regular person, he still looks good, but for Michael, he looks awful. Except for maybe the hair—that looks fucking hot.

He places a bottle of white on the table; no one says anything for at least five minutes.

Daddy's the first one to action. "Donald—another setting if you please. Michael, welcome. Have a seat right there next to Dean."

Everyone's still quiet a long time, even after Michael's set up with a plate and cutlery. Father looks to me; this is my thing after all. Father may be our head of house, but who I love will always be my choice. I know what he's asking; I nod. I know which speech Father's going to give; that'll scare him away for good; it will be better that way.

"Welcome to our table Michael," Father begins. Of course Michael's been to our table before, but not like this. "Dean says you would like to attend Sunday dinners. That you wish to become part of our family—officially. Is this true?"

Michael pins my eyes with his as he tells father, "Yes, sir." For Michael, that's as close to 'I fucking do,' as it's ever going to get.

Daddy smiles.

"In that case you must be made aware of who we are and what we expect. Dean says you already know that our home is a domestic discipline home; that this is not a foreign concept to you?"

"That's correct, sir. I know what domestic discipline is. I lived during times when that's all there was."

"What you may not be familiar with; is the Winchester Way, and I suppose mine and Sam's way," he adds smiling at Daddy who smiles back at him and it's like the first time either of them has ever seen the other. Sometimes I get a bit jealous—though I'm mostly happy for them—I wish Michael and I could look at each other that way.

"I'll explain how we do things. Since you and Dean are not yet married, you are not subject to all our rules, but we do expect you to follow two simple ones. The first: You do not miss Sunday dinner unless you have my express permission. If you miss, there is a consequence you will be expected to willingly submit to. This is to show your commitment to our ways and to Dean. Is that understood?"

"It's understood, sir. Sir?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"I'm wondering if such an exception might be if my father requires me—he's quite hard to refuse."

Both my parents are aware of just how hard Lucifer is to refuse.

"Acceptable. I still expect as much notice as is possible."

"Noted, sir. And what would happen if Dean and I never decided to get married?"

Father sighs heavily. "The truth is, I would be uncomfortable with that, but after speaking with my extremely wise other half," he gives Daddy an adoring look. "I've realized we are the epitome of unconventional already and it would be hypocritical for me to define what 'committed' means between the two of you. However; at some point, Michael, I still expect you to make a full commitment to our family and our way. At the very least, when you are in our home. If not, I can no longer approve of this relationship." Father looks at me. He's serious. In some ways he's very much like Grampa Winchester. I respect him too much to ever disregard something of this magnitude.

"Yes, sir," I say.

"The second rule is one I don't think you'll have a problem with: Speak respectfully to both Dean's Daddy and I. You've always been respectful to both of us; I should have told you so. I of course hope you will extend the same courtesy to my son, but how you two define your relationship is up to the two of you. Which brings me to extending our offer of assistance in any way possible. One of the many purposes for such a dynamic is to define roles and our role as elders is to help guide your relationship. We hope both of you will come to us when you need help, whether it's just for advice, or even for something more physical."

'Physical help' means spanking. Daddy used to tell me that one day I'd ask someone to spank me even when I hadn't disobeyed, that spankings could be calming, freeing. I told him he sounded crazier than an outhouse rat—an expression I learned from Uncle Dal. But I've already learned from being with Michael how true that is.

"Yes, sir," Michael says.

"All right then. I welcome you, son."

Huh. I thought I'd feel embarrassed hearing Father give that speech for the first time—he'd told me many times roughly how the speech goes and it'd always made me feel a bit squirmy.

But I don't feel any embarrassment or squirminess now. Just pride. Pride for our family and for my father for executing it so eloquently. It couldn't have been easy considering.

But I'm smiling like a loon at him, so that's gotta mean something to him. Even Michael looks impressed.

"You've always been a Winchester here, Michael, but now it's official. Welcome," Daddy says.

"Thank-you, sir." He's so formal, I'm having a hard time reading him; not sure what he thinks of everything.

"Dean. Would you please pray for us?" Daddy asks.

I'm highly tempted to lighten the mood with one of Uncle Jensen's humorous prayers, but it’s the way wrong time. I decide on short and sweet and of course Daddy gets tears in his eyes considering what tonight means. It's just another way I'm growing up. If he weren’t approaching fifty, I'd let him shoot me up with Modlenol and raise me again.

We eat and even I get a glass of wine to celebrate the occasion—they of course don’t know about the drinking I do at parties and now Babylon. I'll make sure to come clean about my fake ID, when I'm forty.

The dinner goes well.

When we're finished, Michael asks if he 'may take me for a walk on the grounds.'

"You don’t have to be so formal with us Michael, but maybe keep that formality in your back pocket should you see my father again."


He takes my hand, which he hardly ever does. The sun's only just starting to go down. I decide to fucking tease him before I ream him out. "So, I want ten kids, and six ponies and the wedding will be here. We'll say our vows on the playground, where I punched you in the nuts for the first time."

He yanks my arm and taps my ass. I smile before I glare at him.

"So now that song and dance is over, explain your fucking self. Don't think I've forgiven you yet."

"Isn't it enough that I came to this little indoctrination? I'm a fucking Winchester now, apparently."

"You fucking hurt me Michael."

"Don't be such a baby. I always kick you out; it's what I do. You tell me to fuck off. Then I come and kiss your ass, figuratively, for a bit, before I kiss it literally."

"You meant it this time."

"Calm down. That's why I came.. to win you back. Look at me. I'm a fucking mess without you Dean."

"You're a mess, yet I bet every can in your pantry is organized alphabetically, and by expiry date."

He nods.

"And you hand washed the bottoms of all your shoes?"

He nods shamefully. "And I couldn't get the fucking dust off. I fired my cleaning lady, because she was clearly doing a deplorable job and dusted for eight hours straight."

He means dusted the same room for eight hours straight. "Why didn't you come to me sooner?"

"Because I knew I needed to do something big this time and short of fucking proposing this was the best I could come up with."

"You could have come last Sunday."

"I was still pissed at you."

"I didn't do shit."

"No, you didn't."

"And you're an asshole."

He sighs. "I'm an asshole."

Jesus Christ, I broke Michael. He's never fucking admitted that no matter how hard I've tried, or how big of an asshole he's been—and believe me, he's been a bigger asshole than this.

"So is it enough… Duckling?" He gives a wry half smile.

"You do not call me duckling, Sur. No way. Uh-uh."

"Your daddy calls you Pumpkin Butter and I can't call you duckling?"


"Sugar bun?"





"Long story. Don't ask."


"Now you're just trying to piss me off."


"Fuck-you. I don't need a nickname from you. Dean'll do just fine."



"I'll call you whatever the fuck I like, my dirty little whore." He bites my lip with a kiss. He can call me that—I fucking love when he talks dirty to me. "And? Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Will you resume prior relations with me?"

"Will I become your guy you fuck more than once guy again, you mean?"

"Yeah. Will you?"

I don’t answer him right away. The thing I'm struggling with is that I'm too fucking easy—the truth is, I 'd already taken him back the minute he came in the fucking door looking all sad and pathetic. You know? Had me at hell fucking oh?

"Decide now, or I'll decide for you."

"You're a real prick you know that? But yeah, we can resume 'prior relations.'"


I don't like the way he says that. Something's on his mind.

"Now that we're playing house, I have a new rule for you." Aaaand, there it is.

"You're not my head of house Michael."

"Call me, or don't call me whatever you want, but I make the fucking rules and you obey them. That's the way it's always been."

We'll see. "What's your rule, Michael?"

"I figured out why I've been having a hard time watching you with other guys when you're at Babylon."

He's been having a hard time watching me with other guys? That's news to me. He usually doesn't care. I mean he's been a bit jealous, a very little bit recently, but I figured instead of just knowing I fuck others, he was actually seeing it and that's what made it harder. But it's clearly something that's been bothering him; he's been thinking about it even after.

"Enlighten me."

"I'm worried about you. Concerned. I mean, what if he rapes you? Hurts you? What if he takes you home and ties you up in his basement?"

"Seriously? I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

"Every one hundred and seven seconds, another American is sexually assaulted Dean."

"Yeah. Well not me. I'd cut their dick off, or die trying."

His whole body fucking tenses. "That's just the thing, you could die and I—I'd never survive it Dean."

That's as close to 'I love you,' as Michael gets. I of course decide not to remind him that I'm going to die at some point—he will eventually have to watch me die. I'm human and he's a fucking angel. Besides, this whole round of bullshit, while there may be some truth to what he's saying, is more to do with the simple fact he doesn't want anyone else to touch me and he doesn't want to fucking admit it. He knows I'll never give him a one-way street; if I'm faithful to him than he must be to me too.

"So what cockamamie scheme have you concocted to keep me 'safe' from all the sexual male predators?" Aside from him of course.

"I interview everyone before they dance with you."

"You don't have enough grace for mind-reading, Michael."

"I don't need to mind read. Live as long as me, and you'll be able to read humans just based on body language alone too. I'll know their intentions, it will make me feel much better."

"No fucking way, Michael."

His eyes darken.

"Seriously, fuck off." I can't believe we're already fucking fighting again. "You're not hand selecting my fuck partners Michael. I know exactly how that's going to go. If you want me to be just yours, you can have me. But you're mine too."


"Then, no."

"Just let me do it for one night, and if—please Dean?"

I fucking hate it when he says please. I'm conditioned and he only says it when he really is concerned. Plus, if he hadn't of said that, his fingers are digging in to my biceps to tell me the level of concern he's reached.

That's when it clicks in for me—his need to have control, like with his fucking angel brand OCD. Control, or he thinks I'm going to die. My father has a similar thing, so I understand it some—it's a need Michael can't control, but sometimes tries to and when he does, it never ends well for either of us. I've noticed Michael getting worse, especially recently. Michael must notice, but be in fucking denial as usual.

But part of me doesn't want to just give in. It was different for Daddy. Father was willing to be with him—just him.

"One night."

He pulls me to him and nods into my neck. "I can't protect you if I… if I can't…"

"Yeah. I know."

Chapter Text

"Hey Tom."

I complain about Tom, because he's an angel dick and one that's usually doing most of the throwing of me out; but I actually don't mind him as much as the others. Besides, he's just obeying orders. In the back of my mind, I have thoughts that the more angels on our side, well, on Michael's side, maybe one day we can end Lucifer.

That's the only way Michael can be free of him—he won't let go of him, it's obey him or be turned back into a little kid. Luci-dick (oh how I love calling him that) has this idea that it he just 'raises Michael right' Michael will honor him as his true father. That's how Lucifer would like Michael to see him. If you want to get technical, they're brothers, but God cast them out of Heaven. Well he cast Lucifer out of Heaven; Michael offered to tag along.

For Lucifer, it was punishment. Lucifer hates humans; God stuck him here forever, in a permanent vessel, to watch over the human race with the promise that if he does a good job that perhaps one day he could be allowed back in Heaven (I doubt that'll ever happen). God, sent Michael to watch over and help his brother, be his voice of reason.

Lucifer was quickly able to start his own angel mafia down here on Earth. He may not be set on annihilating us, he can't exactly, but he aims to control us, someday. He's been slowly gaining power: Lukas Godfrey is one of the most powerful men in the world.

His control extends to Michael.

He took most of Michael's grace leaving him with only enough to sail his vessel. Whenever Michael has seriously disobeyed him, he de-ages him with the idea that he will be more obedient the more Michael believes Lucifer to be his father rather than his brother.

Sometimes I think Lucifer was right.

I haven't heard Michael call Lucifer his brother since the last time he was de-aged. It's like he does believe Lucifer is his father now. He never disobeys Lucifer anymore—least he hasn't in a long time, no matter what's he's told to do—and Michael won't talk about what Lucifer has him do. The one plus side; since Michael has been so well behaved, he's been granted many freedoms, which is why he has his own loft and set of angels to 'Lord over.'

In a twisted, really super fucked up way, Lucifer cares for Michael. In his own psychopathic mind, he believes he's showing Michael the light.

"It's good to see you back, Dean."

It is? His head gestures around the apartment. Michael's been… busy.

"Shit, Tom." Michael's condo is always spotless; Magda his (prior) cleaning lady sees to that, but this is beyond anything she could do. If you could fucking sand marble counter tops to get them to shine—well that's what it looks like he's done. I'd be afraid to take a white glove to this place in case the white glove would make it dirty.

I do a quick look through the cupboards—yep, every fucking can perfect, every box of anything, aligned. Michael does need to eat, I've learned over the years, but not as much as you or I. So while he doesn't eat all the time, he can (to be socially acceptable) and even requires it to some extent.

"Sir is in his office," Tom says.

He's not expecting me. I go in without fucking knocking, just to piss him off a bit, but I'm the one that's standing with his mouth open. His office is in a different state than the rest of his condo, but it's a recent mess; he's on the phone with Lucifer.

"Yes, Father." He throws a stack of papers. "I'll see to it." He freezes. "Yes, I'll be there for dinner, sir." He swipes all the shit off his desk. When he hangs up, I have to fucking duck as his phone flies across the room.

I lift my eyebrows at him. In other words: 'What the fuck?'

"Nothing you need to worry about. Come."

I 'come' as beckoned, prick, but the kiss he gives me is worth it. Michael and I do have something: Fucking kissing. Also the sex of course, but there's something about the way he kisses me. Especially knowing that now, he only kisses me.

He pulls away, I pant heavily.

"Why are you here?"

"Well, I was on the way to the beach with some friends—"

"Beach? Friends? Since when do you have friends?"

"I've always had friends—you know that—well, acquaintances really. You know how Daddy worries? It's my biweekly 'friend' hang out. It's really Hannah and I meeting up with kids from our school."

"Your parents allowed this?"

Did he miss the first part? I laugh. "Even Father knows; told me not to get sand in my shorts."

Michael looks pissed. I have no clue why. I've gone lots of places, with lots of people; it's never pissed him off.

"Something wrong?"

"No. I'm just busy. What do you want?"

I could've sworn he was fucking happy to see me moments ago, now he's an ass again. "What's your fucking problem? I stopped to see you, maybe even fuck you, but fuck, why do I fucking bother?" Think I could have fit anymore fucks in there?

"It seems like everyone in 'the family' knew you were going to the beach except for me. Shouldn't you be asking me if you might go to places like that?" He's treating the beach as if I said whorehouse.

"No. I shouldn't. I don't even have to 'ask' my parents. I merely told them."

"Get, out."

"No. Not fucking this again. You kick me out, I swear I'm not taking you back next time."

He looks me over to see if I'm serious and when he sees I am he says: "Fine. Would you please leave and return at a time more convenient?"

Better, but it's not that much different, except now I know he just wants to cool down before he decides to throttle me.

"No. You're just pissed at me and for no reason," I sigh. "Look, I was hoping you'd pound me into your desk." I'm hoping that will get us out of this ridiculous argument. Sex is usually a good way to distract Michael.

But he's not distracted this time; he's thinking and that's never fucking good.

"I'm coming with you."

"To the beach? You want to hang out with a bunch of fucking teenagers at the beach?"

"No. I want to hang out with you at the beach. The others I'll have to tolerate."

"I'm going to see you tonight. I don't think—" But he's already walked away from me and out the door of his office. I follow him to his bedroom.


"I haven't been to the beach in ages," he says conversationally, like it's completely fucking normal for him to go to the beach. Maybe someone should tell him it isn't, least not in my experience. "How about this?" He holds up a tank top, which I've never seen him wear without a shirt overtop—is that even his? Where'd he get that?

"Do they still build sandcastles at your age? I suppose I'll help you build one."

I laugh at him. "What are you doing? You're being ridiculous. I'll just, I'll see you tonight." I turn to go.

Michael loses his playful demeanor. "If I don't go; you don't go."

That stops me in my tracks. I should tell him to fuck off; I'm about to, but then I remember the cans. Something's going on for Michael, something he probably doesn't even know is going on himself. And it's not the whole 'he won't admit he loves me thing.' Sure he doesn't say it, it's because Michael's not a sappy fucker like my parents, I know he loves me, or at least cares for me a great deal (despite what I might say when I'm moping), everyone else knows it too—this is something else. I think he needs the something inside of him that worries about me 'stroked' so to speak.

I'm not talking about his cock—get your mind out of the gutter—it's a thing inside of him; a feeling sure, but I'm more apt to call it an itch: A compulsion.

It's even there in his eyes, asking me not to fucking question him and just not be a shithead for once; that's why it's even more important for me to give him a 'normal-Dean-like' response.

"Now who's the fucking Duckling?"


"What's the matter Dean? Uncomfortable?"

"Yeah, I'm fucking uncomfortable. My ass is probably red."

"I know it is," he says not feeling sorry for me in the least. "Made sure it was in fact."

"You're so fucking touchy."

He's smiling. At least him spanking me seems to ease his fucking internal anguish. I shake my head. He's driving and I'm in fucking shotgun. Figure that one out. He never lets me drive when we're in a car together, claiming his angel sight and reflexes are far superior to mine and thus less chance of an 'automobile accident.' That's how he phrases it in his sometimes, anachronistic way of speaking.

He also thinks I'm a reckless driver.

I'm trying not to stare at him. You should see him right now, in his grey tank with the white piping, white board shorts and sandals (other items I didn't know he had). But what completes the look, are his black sunglasses. Michael looks hot in sunglasses. Jesus—everyone's going to be doing a double take.

You're not going to believe I'm saying this; but I usually feel pretty inadequate with Michael. Don't get me wrong; I know I'm hot, I just know my level of hot and he's far above it.

He gets pissed when I tell him we have to pick up Hannah, who I can only shrug at when she sees us pull up in his Jeep. I couldn't explain his deal if I wanted to and Lord knows I've tried.

We make it to the beach. There are a bunch of kids from school; some playing volleyball, some tanning, some just chillin' and drinking brewskies (subtly). Hannah tells me she'll be right back, leaving me alone with grouch-o, and finds a group of girls.

"I fucking hate the beach."

"They why did you come?"

He ignores my question. "It's too hot here."

"Here. Go get us some ice cream," I say trying to stuff money into his hand; he just lets it drop to the ground, with a dark look that's asking if I'm stupid.

"All right. You buy it then. I don't give a shit. Just, go'on."

He's pissed, but he storms away. Asshole. I look for a place to lay our towels down, I plan on getting my tan on. I don't love the beach, but I don't mind the beach. I like the sun and laying in it once in awhile. I peel off my shirt and don't bother with sunscreen for now. I hate that shit, but don't worry, I'll put it on in a bit; if I get burnt, Daddy'll kill me.

I'm not there long when a kid from school, Anthony, invites himself to lay on Michael's towel. I don't see Michael around, he must have got lost looking for ice cream (without wings, he's got no internal GPS) but I should still lose this guy before Michael sees him; he will hurt him.

"Heya Dean! I didn't think you'd come, but I'm glad you did."

This is getting worse. He's hitting on me—he's fucking hitting on me. I know he hasn't said much, but guys don't just say shit like that unless they want to fuck. Thing is, Anthony is hot. Like, hot-hot. I don't want to pass him up, but there's nothing I can do about it now. I'm here with Michael. Do you know how pissed he'll be if he sees me flirting back with this guy? There are limits to our relationship, I've learned not to fucking toy with. I mean, in the not so distant past, I would have tried to make Michael jealous on purpose.

There was a time where making him jealous was a novelty and harder to do. But since we began fucking, things have changed and then changed further over the past couple weeks, something tells me he might very well kill this guy; making him jealous is a bad idea.

I tell him something in between. I want to make sure I can fuck this guy at a later date. "I'm actually here on a date, nothing serious, Sugar. You going to be at the Miller party next weekend?" Okay, fuck. That's flirting. I can't help it; comes naturally to me. And over time, I've somehow managed to take my daddy's affectionate term he uses for everyone and use it for seducing people.

"Wouldn't miss it Dean," he says coyly.

"Okay, well you better go. Now's not the best time."

"Don't want to piss off your 'date,' got it," he smiles. Anthony has a nice smile. "I'll see you next weekend Dean."

He leaves and I look for Michael again—still don't see him. Crisis a fucking verted. My heartbeat stops thudding in my chest, which I hadn't even noticed 'till now.

I get back to tanning and it's not long after that I'm practically accosted by Melissa—she outright drapes herself over me and starts snuggling into my neck. We've already fucked and I don't give seconds, but apparently that's what she's looking for. "Dean."

I carefully peel her away from me, but our positions still don't look great with the way I'm holding her wrist and she's still trying to kiss me. "Watch the lips baby girl." To her I do lie, sort of. "I'm here with my boyfriend."

Girls are a little better at understanding terms that have to do with 'commitment' than dudes seem to be. She looks around. "Shit. Sorry Dean. I just thought I'd surprise you—we had fun last time, didn't we?"

A lot of them, girls, even the pretty ones like Melissa are insecure. I press her nose. "We sure did, Sugar. But I think you should run along before he sees me with a delicious thing like you—he might get jealous."

"Okay, Dean. See you next weekend?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Fuck. What the hell happened to Michael?

Hell. I'll even take Hannah, where'd she get off to?

Thankfully I get a five minute reprieve, but I'm not surprised at all the attention I'm getting—not only am I the second hottest thing here, but the beach is a bit of a meat market. Shit. Wait a second. Fucking Michael—I'll bet that's why he didn't want me coming here alone. This is the sand and sun version of Babylon.

Next I'm approached by a whole crowd of guys; there are four. "Oh Dean, hey—we were looking for one more for our V-ball team. You in?"

Huh. Might be fun. I'm about to tell them yes and for once I don’t think I'm being hit on, but all Michael sees as he approaches are four hot shirtless guys surrounding me. He pushes past them like the asshole he is and hands me the ice cream he got for me.

"Who the fuck is this asshole Dean?" Aaron asks.

"I'm Michael. And you're leaving." He puts his arms around me and pulls me to his chest. Normally I'd love such an outright territory marking, but right now I'm just pissed.

"Your boyfriend's a prick Dean," Aaron informs me as he walks away and his 'team' follows. I won't argue with that and Michael doesn't bother to correct them on the boyfriend thing, probably since they're meaningless to him.

But speaking of which, he is acting like a jealous boyfriend today, it's all you've seen, but it's really not like him. What's going on with him?

When they're gone, I wiggle out of his hold and plop down on the towels. I'm not sure how to deal with him today and my brain searches through memories of Daddy and Father; things they've taught me about each other. I'm still off thinking, while he's issuing complaints about me, but I catch: "It's no wonder everyone's throwing themselves at you; you're practically flaunting yourself." He grabs my shirt and throws it at me. "Put this on, now."

"Where's your ice cream?" I ask ignoring his order.

"Over there." He points. In the sand is a lump of melting ice cream with a smashed cone. "The cone broke."

Yeah, when he crushed it seeing me surrounded by hotties. Serves him right.

"Here. Let's share," I say pushing it to his lips.

He shoves me away. "I don't want any." It was supposed to cool him off, but whatever.

He's got a funny look on his face; one I don't understand—I'm not sure I've ever seen it. I still don't know what to do about him. I wish Daddy were here; he's the fucking expert on translating Michael—I don't know how he does it, but he does. I mean, I am aware there are similarities between Michael and Father, but they aren't exactly alike. Daddy still 'gets' him more than I do; it's one of the reasons Michael's always felt soothed in Daddy's presence, I'm sure.

I know. Sex. That's a sure fire way to distract Michael from whatever stupid thing he's thinking about. Probably pummeling the sexy high-school boys with no shirts. I pretend my ice cream is his cock and I lick it and put as much in my mouth as will fit. "Mmmm… This is good, but it's not quite as good as your dick—let's find somewhere we won't get arrested, huh?"

"Stop it."

What the? Stop it? I go back to eating my ice cream properly. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I don’t want to be here."

"So? Go. I'll find a ride back to my car."

"From one of these drinking yahoos?"

"Someone'll be sober. If not I'll get a cab. It's not like I don't have money."

"No, Dean."

"Fine. You drive me back to Baby, I'll drive her back here. It's a pain in the fucking ass, but I can do that."

"Are you going to play volleyball with those guys?"

"I don't know."

"Will that slut in the gold bikini come back to rub herself against your cock again?"

He saw that? "No. She wasn't on my cock, Michael—you're over reacting."

"How about that dark haired kid with the small dick?"

He doesn't know that. "What about him?"

"You were flirting with him."

"So? Should I start in on how many guys you fucked yesterday alone?"

"Never when I'm supposed to be with just you. If you drop by unannounced, I can't help that."

Well, yeah, but—

"Are you even wearing sunscreen?"

"That defeats the purpose of tanning."

"The sun causes skin cancer in humans."

"So does sunscreen."

"Must you argue everything?"

What? It's what we do. We've always argued everything. "When you're being unreasonable, yes."

"I'm just trying to protect you."

"You're being like a helicopter parent."

He doesn't take kindly to that, his eyes darken. There's no pleasing him today, even sex didn't work, so I'm going to go for the 'old fuck you, but I'll do what you say, eventually.'

"Look. I'll tan for an hour then I'll slather myself in sunsperm. Jesus Christ."

I can feel how fucking icy he is from beside me. I try not to let it bother me, but it fucking does. I lie on my back and put my shirt over my eyes and try to let the hot sun eclipse his ire.

I can't see him, but I know he's thinking. That's probably not good. Michael is a fuck load smarter than I am. It all comes from living for a long time. I try not to let that bother me either.

I almost jump when I hear his voice sometime later. "I thought part of playing house Winchester was that you obey me?"

At least now I see why he did it. Probably thought I'd do whatever he said with no arguments. "Not when you're just being a jealous prick."

"Really? So there are conditions to when and how your daddy obeys your father? To when and how you obey Papa Winchester?"

Um, definitely not. "That's besides the point. We're—"

"Not serious enough for you? Apparently, we're serious enough for Papa Winchester, but not for junior? He allowed me into your circle Dean. He called me 'son.' He fucking hates the very air I breathe, but he called me son. This isn't enough for you?"

"We're not exclusive, Michael. We need to be exclusive if you want me to agree to a set of rules."

"That's not how I understood it." It's very ominous the way he says that.

"Well I've been living the Winchester Way a lot longer than you have—trust me—I know how it works."

He doesn't say anything after that. Like, nothing. I tan. I put on the sunscreen like I promised him. He doesn't like it, but I leave to play volleyball, I drink one beer—just one—I joke around with Hannah, I try to talk to Michael with no luck, and I should be having an all around good time. I look like I'm having an all around good time and I am, mostly. But something's fucking nipping at me; something's going to happen and I'm not going to like it.


Michael has to cancel our outing to Babylon that night. Luci-dick calls him and he has to go running. We already dropped Hannah off and we're on our way back to his loft, not having spoken for hours. And by the way, I can't tell if he's mad, or what the fuck he is. I mean, I usually know if he's mad. This doesn't seem like that, but he's definitely not pleased.

This is what happened. His phone rang. The moment he looked his at the call display I knew who it was just by the look on his face. "Father?"

He's silent then there's a simple, "yes, sir." He hung up and chucked his phone. "Tonight's off."

If he's going to be fucking quiet; so am I. Yeah, I knew full well what he meant by 'tonight is off,' that neither of us were going, but I decided to take that differently: That he's simply no longer going as my date. I nodded. He remained an angel on mute the rest of the way back to the loft and my car. I went to Babylon and had a great fucking time. Marcus, Will and Emmett were there. I bought them all drinks, I chilled with them, I fucked two guys—everything's great.


For the first time I have a fucking headache when I wake up after a night at Babylon. I didn't drink anymore than usual, but I did have that beer earlier in the day, I think it messed up my groove.

I shower, get ready for church and head down for some fucking delicious coffee and try to pretend like my head isn't pounding. "'Morning Daddy," I say.

"'Morning sweetheart." He hands me a cup and I sit at the island. Sweet Jesus it tastes good—like heaven. I don't even need to go to church this morning—I'll just pray over this cup of fucking holy water.

"This coffee's fantastic! Is there any breakfast?"

Daddy laughs at me. "Your father's taking us out after church."

"Please tell me there's a snack."

"Of course. I know my boy." He moves off to get me food; my phone vibrates in my pocket. Daddy practically begged father years ago to let him make some of our meals. Father finally relented and allowed him to make breakfasts and lunches, but dinners are still fairly formal. Especially (no doubt) Sundays.

I take another sip of my coffee before I pull out my phone—this coffee's the fucking best—have I said that yet? Yes? I don't fucking care. You're going to hear that at least twelve more times.

It's from Michael; he's already pissed at me for something: You're in a world of trouble.

I can't deal with him right now; it's too fucking early for angst, so I continue to enjoy my coffee, but there's a squirmy feeling in my stomach. I'm not as stupid as I sometimes pretend to be. I mean, I knew he wouldn't like me going to Babylon, especially since he was going to do this weird 'pick-my-fuck-partner' thing, but…

Daddy's made me up some fruit and scones, butter and Nana's homemade jam. It's fucking delicious.

"Pre-game snack?" Father says when he comes in; Daddy gives him a coffee too and a scone.

"Yep." My phone vibrates again.

Michael again; of course: Nothing? It says.

As if I've got nothing to do but answer his texts. "Dean. What have I told you about answering that thing during meals?"

"Sorry Papa. I didn't realize this was an official meal."

"I suppose not, but put it away, please."

"Yes, sir. It's only Michael anyway," I say as I pocket it.

"Oh. Well, be quick then."

Yes it was Papa who said that; no I can't believe it. Daddy laughs at the expression on my face. "When we have more time, Dean Bean, I'll tell you the story of the first rule your father made for me. He wanted to know where I was every second of every minute of every day."

"Did not," Father says putting his arms around Daddy.

"You did too, Castiel Winchester. So? What did Michael want for your first rule? You supposed to text him when you wake up; let him know you're alive?" He's excited something akin to as if I'd gone on my first date.

Um, what? That's my response, but Daddy looks so fucking happy, I don't want to let on that we're so not on the same page. "Oh he's just returning something from last night," I lie.

"When he gets in then," Daddy says to Papa. "That is more Michael's style."

Papa smiles ear to ear. "We're so proud of you Dean."

I'm confused. "But you hate, Michael."

"I do dislike many things about Michael, but he's there when it's important and he loves you. I can work with that. Not to mention, Michael's a good choice in other regards; he'll fit in with 'our way.' He's exactly what you need."

Huh? I take a big bite of scone, so my parents can't read the internal mind fuck that's happening for me right now. Did I wake up in opposite land?

"Aren't you going to get back to him, Dean?" Father says.

"Yes, sir."

This is weird; I pull out my phone again.

"And Michael may attend church with us at anytime—he doesn't have to yet, but if he'd like—feel free to invite him to breakfast."

I think my father has suffered severe head trauma—that must be it. Michael hasn't attended church for a long time. There was a time when Lucifer made him go, but not now.

And even if he hadn't sent such a foreboding text; after our fucked up beach day yesterday, I wouldn't have wanted to invite him anyway.

I quickly text back: Fuck off, Michael. And pretend to be oblivious to several more vibrations from my pocket as I enjoy more coffee, scones and conversation with my parents.

By the time church has ended and our impromptu family breakfast (for which I had to make excuses as to why Michael wasn't there) Michael has text me six more times. I feel like I'm swarmed in shit I don't know how to deal with; this is becoming problematic. Fuck. To top it off, Daddy can tell something's up. "Everything okay, Dean Bean?"

"Everything's fine Daddy." Another lie.

When we get home, I head up to my room to change and call Michael. I guess I should just be happy he's speaking to me today. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

"I was with my parents at church."

"After last night, I think I'm entitled to a little bit more than 'fuck off.' Explain yourself."

"Explain myself? What's there to explain? I went to Babylon last night like I have been every Saturday for the past few weeks."

"I told you I couldn't go."

"You couldn't go. I could."

"We had a deal, one you agreed to."

"And I'll keep my end of the 'deal,' for the next time we go."

"I know you're not stupid. You couldn't have possibly though that's what I meant. You may be able to play dumb for your parents, Dean, but not for me. Get over here, now." He hangs up.

Fuck. I sigh heavily.

I'm on my way out, but I go through the kitchen where I know Daddy will be, he's reading a book by the bay window. "Just popping out real quick," I say kissing his cheek. "You need anything, Daddy?"

"I'm good sweetheart." He's smiling. "Your father and I will be out for the day too. We'll see you at dinner."

Tom opens the door to Michael's loft; I don't like the look on his face. "He's said for you to go straight in, sir."

I go through to his office. He doesn't even pretend he wasn't waiting for me. "What took you so long?"

"I came straight here—I had to let Daddy know I was going out. Calm the fuck down."

"I am calm Dean." I look at him again. And yeah, he is calm—I realize I'm the one who's not.

"Okay, well you're fucking making me nervous."

"Nervous? Why would you be nervous? You didn't do anything. You never do anything. Just like the other day with all the hunting business. You break rules, yet I'm the one being unreasonable for expecting you to own up."

"I already told you—"

"We're not serious enough for you. Yes. I remember. We'll worry about that another time, right now we're here to discuss your most recent transgressions."

"Transgressions? You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"I'm not kidding. I asked you something, you said yes, then you disobeyed me."

"You didn't say I couldn't got to Babylon."

"I said the night was off. I meant for you too."

"You didn't say that."

"It's what I meant."

"I can't read your fucking mind," I huff. "Fine. I'm sorry. Let's just chalk this up to a misunderstanding."

"I would if that's what this was, but it isn't. Can you honestly tell me you didn't know what I meant?"

Well, not honestly.

"You don't even need to answer that Dean. Your face tells me everything I need to know. You did know and you went anyway. I think we've established you've disobeyed me."

"But you didn't say."

"But you knew. You knew and you knew how I'd feel about it—that's disrespectful."

I can feel my cheeks heat, because yeah, I can't even fucking deny that. I've been over this one with my father too many times. 'Getting out of things (or I should say, trying to get out of things) on technicalities' is a Dean Winchester special that doesn't fly in our home either, but I never cease to try.

I'm quiet now—I've got no argument for that.

"Good. That's number one. Number two; you know by now, when I text you I expect in the least to know where you are."

"It's Sunday Michael. You know I have church, I didn't have time to compose you a fucking text."

"Yet you had time to text me to fuck off."

Okay, so that wasn't my brightest move. You may be asking yourself; 'what should that matter?' You tell him to fuck off every five seconds. What's the difference between that and all the other times? Remember what I said about bickering and 'for real mad?'

Michael was 'for real mad' when he sent that text. I knew to be a lot more respectful than that and well you know the rest.

"Right, so two."

Nothing left to say, I look at the ground.

"Look at me Dean."

It's hard, but I do. "Do you understand why I'm going to punish you?"

I nod, the tears are already starting and he hasn't fucking touched me yet. And the fucked up thing? If he doesn't spank me—though I don't know in what universe he wouldn't—I'll carry this and the guilt will drive me mad.

My tears soften him marginally. "Pass me that over there," he's says even though he's right fucking beside it. His paddle. I walk over preferring to stare at it than look him in the eyes anymore, and snatch it up, passing it to him.

"Thank-you." He grabs my hand and pulls me over to the short black leather sofa in his office. I'm only wearing sweats and boxers so it's easy for him to pull those down to my ankles; he pulls me over his lap. He doesn't use the paddle right away, but it's not so he can 'warm me up' or whatever, my ass is no amateur when it comes to spanking; I'll just say that.

Michael starts in and it hurts, but my stream of tears isn't anything to do with that—not yet at least. I love Michael; I care about him; I've been an absolute ass. I didn't consider him at all and just fucking acted. It's funny how 'this' perspective, can bring so many new perspectives.

"Why didn't I want you to go to Babylon Dean? Why did I ask what I asked of you?"

"Because you were worried about me. I'm sorry, Michael."

"In case you haven't noticed," he says as he continues to spank my ass. "I've been losing my mind with worry over you. I know you've seen my cupboards. I ask you for one thing and you turn into a complete brat."

Turn into? Has he just met me? I've been a brat since day one.

He continues to spank me until he finally does start to bring pain to my backside; I can take quite a bit though, but at this point, I'm actually looking forward to the paddle and not in the way you're thinking—I'm not turned on right now in the least. I'm looking forward to the resolution it'll bring me.

When he's finished with part one he stands me up. "Okay Dean. I think that's enough. You've, learned your lesson," he says wryly. "I think you know what I expect of you."

I stare at him confused. "But what about?" I look my eyes over to his paddle as I wipe at my tears. Yeah, I know. Why the fuck am I even asking? Take the money and run Dean.

"Do you need that, Duckling?"

Remember what Daddy said? Someday I'd ask? You're going to think I'm as crazy as a piss ant. "Please."

"All right." He grabs it up. "How many?"


"Ten?" He quirks his brow.

In other words, I'm saying I feel it's the same severity as going on a hunt without his say so. To me, it is.

I nod.

"Very well. Back over you go."

I place myself back over his lap and he's not easy on me. I wouldn't want him to be. He's exactly what I need: Firm and consistent. When he's finished, he places the paddle to the side and rubs my back and my hot backside. "All better?"

"Yes. Thank-you." He pulls me off his lap, rights my clothing then pulls me between his legs. He uses his thumb to wipe away tears. "I'm s-sorry, Michael."

"Nuh-uh. You were a naughty boy, but the price is paid. Don't think anymore about it."

I sniffle and hug him around his neck. "What's going on with us?"

He sighs. "I don't know Dean. I just know I can't… You occupy my every thought."

"Then how come you can't be with just me? Why do you need all the others?"

"I'm not having that conversation with you again. Leave it," he growls, with a firm pat to my rear. He stands up and leans in to kiss me. "Now then. Tell me all about the sermon and I'll clarify what actually happened."

I tell him, but I 'Dean the sermon up' and make him laugh—Michael's a trillion times more beautiful when he laughs. But even his beauty's not enough to make me forget; we haven't discussed what happened at the beach. He said he'd get to it, but he never did. If he's going to let it go, so will I.

~Sunday Dinner~

I feel much better after a spanking from Michael. Nothing'd been sitting right since yesterday at the beach. I still have no idea what the fuck happened at the beach, but today was some kind of break through between Michael and I. I feel so fucking happy.

"Can we make Nana's biscuits, Daddy?" Father said we could make dinner; tonight can be Michael's first 'real' Sunday dinner since last Sunday we hadn't expected him.

"Sure, Sugar. How about you make them yourself? I'll just tell you what to put in them—that way you can tell Michael you made them for him."

I laugh. "I'll make'em Daddy, but he's not going to care. He can take or leave most food. Which reminds me, do we have beer? Michael likes beer."

"I think we have some. If not I'll send your father out."

Daddy wipes his brow and smiles; his dark hair falling across his cheek. He's got his apron on, the one he wears for serious cooking. I've got an apron too; I help Daddy a lot, we've had some good times cooking together. At first I balked when he said he was going to teach me; but he insisted it was a skill worth learning even if (as I had pointed out) I'd probably never have to cook for myself. He said it was a pride thing.

When I made my first pecan pie; I was so damn proud of myself, I phoned Nana Colt. Pecan pie is a son of a bitch to make. As usual, Daddy was right.

"Like Father's going to want to run an errand that involves doing something specially for Michael." Daddy likes to have errands for Father (instead of the staff) when he's in the kitchen—that's the one place he prefers not to be bothered by him, but he can't exactly say it to him. I'm sure Father knows.

"Papa gives Michael a hard time Dean, but it's only because he wants him to be suitable for you. He's well aware of who Michael is." An angel he means. "But he doesn't hate Michael."

"He suggested Michael for the piñata at my eighth birthday party."

Daddy laughs and so do I—that was pretty fucking funny. "He wasn't even going to allow him in the house for your last birthday. Do you remember that? He made you cry, I've never seen your father so mad."
I laugh. "He made him beg on his knees to be let into the house."

"That's right and Michael did. You'd do well to remember, Sur."

"Hey! What did I do?" Daddy only says 'Sur' in mild chastisement. I know by now it's a warning.

"Your father didn't think he'd do it, maybe hoped is more accurate. But when he did—he knew that boy would do anything for you; it must have been embarrassing for him, but he didn't care he had to see you, Dean. He still grinds Michael's gears, but he gained new respect for Michael. Maybe you should too."

My cheeks burn. How does Daddy always know everything?

"Did you know you bite your lip when you lie?"

"What? No I don't."

"You do. Learned that when you were about four. Do you think I really believed an owl flew in and knocked over my vase?"

I can't talk for a second. So, like, does he know every fucking time I lie?

He smiles smartly.

"You asked me all about that owl; I did think you believed me."

"You were so gosh darn cute, I just had to. Especially when you said, 'don't worry, Daddy—I salted him good, he's gone now.'"

I got away with murder when I was little and flipping cute.

"The owl story was harmless enough; now you're playing with fire. I wish you'd talk to me, but if you can't, at least go visit Uncle Dal?"

I should have known Daddy knows me too well to hide when something's wrong from him. I nod. "I will, Daddy. I just need to figure some stuff out on my own, you know?"

"I understand, and I agree that you're getting older and need to solve some of your own problems without Daddy and Papa, but you're not so great at asking for help in the best of times, Mister. You need to work on that. When you run out of ideas come to us."

"I'll ask for help."

"See that you do."

"Speaking of help, you think I can count on your help to convince father that I don't have to go to Texas for half of the summer?" I have big plans this summer. Now that 'things' seem to be happening with Michael, I don't want to leave so soon. School's over in a few weeks and I'll have to leave—Daddy usually comes with me.

I've still got one year of high school left, in case you were wondering. With the way everything's worked out with birthdays and being held back sometimes when I was younger, I'm going to graduate next year. At least I'll graduate with Hannah. Usually they hold me back 'till my 'age' catches up as determined by Daddy and the doctor. Daddy always worried about me being behind the other kids, but Daddy speculates that as I've gotten older the difference has become less noticeable. Both my parents still question and worry over where I'm really at in regards to age and maturity. It's too much for me to figure out; I'm happy to let them do that for me.

Daddy laughs like I'm ridiculous. "You're funny sweetheart."

"I'm serious."

"There's no way he'll allow it Dean. You know it was the best he could work out with Grampa Winchester without Grampa Winchester raising a fuss."

"But I'm older now; it's different."

"Nothing's different, sweetheart—I think you can expect to go until he passes on. He still doesn't understand why you can't stay in Texas the whole summer, so he can get at least a month with you; he must start planning what he'll do with you the next year, from the day you leave. Besides, what about Nana and Grandaddy Colt? Your aunts, uncles, and cousins?"

That makes me feel a bit guilty; but not guilty enough. "Soooo will you ask him?"

"Oh no. I'm staying out of this. You're welcome to have that conversation with your father, but I'm warning you, I just know how it'll go and it won't go well. You're going to get yourself in trouble Dean Winchester."

Well, I'll think about that at least, but I also know with Father it's about timing. I'll wait 'till he's in a good mood, then I'll ask him. "Right, so these biscuits, what do I add next?"


Father doesn't have to go get Michael beer, we have some and I get him one after he's come in. "So what did you do after I left? Or should I say who did you do?" I tease.

"College student—left much to be desired—I thought of you the whole time," he teases back kissing me with beer-flavored lips.

"Okay you two lovebirds, you ready to eat?" Daddy asks.

"Yes, sir," Michael says.

"Surely you can call me Sam now, Michael. You're family."

Michael looks uncomfortable with that. "You're still my superior, sir."

Daddy lets out a breath and shakes his head. "All right, all right. I tried."

We join Father. "Hello, Dean. Michael."

"Hello, sir."

"Hey, Papa." I give him a hug. Haven't seen him since church this morning.

We're served and we eat. Daddy was right (again) I feel fucking awesome when Michael compliments my biscuits and I get to tell him I made them. When we reach coffee and dessert that's when the mood at the table changes; Michael has questions.

"I've been thinking, since dinner last week about what you said; that at some point you would expect I commit to the family in full. I'd like to find out more about what that means, sir." He's speaking to my father.

"Of course Michael. Consider these dinners like a board meeting of sorts. While one of the main purposes of Sunday dinner is to bond as a family, the other is to discuss any familial matters. Please feel comfortable to do so."

"Thank-you, sir. I'm trying to understand the structure. I understand domestic discipline well enough, but from my experience it usually begins and ends with the couple; I've never seen it extend to the family in such a way."

"The Winchester family has been this way for many generations. It's in our blood to govern and to protect. We've found we cannot do that without control; things get too chaotic. My great-great-great-great grandfather created the Winchester Way and it's proven to be profitable. Everyone is kept accountable. We believe it creates a stronger family unit."

"I agree, sir. From what I've seen you have a strong family; you care for one another and respect each other very much. My questions are with regard to hierarchy. How does that work? You said I would have to 'submit' to your father and to particular rules? What would that mean exactly? I mean, if Dean and I were to marry someday, wouldn't I make rules for Dean?"

I'm speechless. Michael has never used the words 'Dean' and 'marry' in the same sentence. Is he being serious?

"These are good questions. Thank-you for taking such interest Michael. I did say 'submit,' but I should clarify that I meant you would be his subordinate, as am I. While my parents might issues mandates they believe are beneficial to the family, how I run my home is up to Sam and I. It would be the same for you—how you run your home will be decided between you and Dean, but you would also be expected to consider mandates from both my father's house and from ours. Sam and I are expected to make sure you implement these mandates. If not, there is punishment."

"I see. Grandfather Winchester is the General, you're his Colonel and I'd be a Captain?"

"Correct. Definitely our partners are our aides so to speak, Sam's my amazing vice commander," he pauses to smile at Daddy. "But final rulings are by the Heads of Houses. You must defer to any ranking above you, though you won't have to worry so much about my siblings. While you would of course owe them a particular level of respect, they won't have any bearing on the details of your base. Only my father, mother, Sam, or I would have any influence whatsoever and even then you maintain autonomy and control of your own 'base;' your home."

"Okay. I get it, makes a lot of sense explained like that."

"Of course this is if you commit fully and, or marry. Currently, you're a captain from another branch. Basically we're the Air Force and your father is the Army. We're not in your chain of command, but we still outrank you. You're bound to your father's rules and policies first, but you still report to us. Your father, understandably takes priority, until such time you transfer."

"It's just that last part that presents any challenge for me. I've never had a problem making your family my priority, but I cannot disobey my father."

"That is something I have been thinking about. It deserves special consideration. If the time ever comes, we'll revisit the topic and see if an agreement could be reached, one that doesn't put you in danger Michael. You're a Winchester now and I'll see you protected as such."

I smile huge at Papa for that, even if I can see it makes Michael a bit uncomfortable.

"Now what about Dean?"

I don't like the way he says that.

"He's our dependent and doesn't really have a place in the command structure yet—no offence Kiddo."

"None, taken."

"Though I'd at least give him first lieutenant, he's earned that much," he says winking at me. "And his say matters. You two need to come up with your own set of rules. This is where it gets tricky; some rules will benefit Dean, some you Michael and some both of you. The other may not always like a particular rule, but you must find a way to reach compromise."

"Thank-you, sir. And I understand that too, where I'm still a little hazy is with regard to Dean and I, and our current roles. How serious do we have to be before I may insist on rules?"

That's where Father gets a funny look on his face, tilts his head sideways and says: "You are serious enough now, Michael. This is no small thing in our family; the amount of commitment you have already pledged is enough you may begin 'setting up your own base,' of course Dean is still subject to our rules, but he knows he can defer to you for smaller things, that we will now take the rules you two have made under consideration—like this morning. But any rules you are unsure of, or that may conflict with ours currently, the two of you may discuss with us during Sunday dinners. Sam and I are a bit less stringent than the 'General,' we would like to nurture the mandates you come up with for your future home rather than have you follow too many of ours." Father says all of this a bit confused, like he's wondering why he should be explaining this part, but then he looks at me; appraising me, and has clearly decided on why he's had to explain it at all: Dean must not have told him. But why wouldn't Dean tell him? That was Dean's responsibility. Dean knows this. Surely.

All I know is I'm in for a serious chat with father and that's in the very least.

"What happened this morning?" Michael asks. He has no idea how much trouble those four words are going to get me in, or maybe he does. He doesn't look too thrilled with me either.

"I'm starting to think I need to have a word with my son before we continue this conversation further, Michael, as I'm becoming a bit lost. Would the two of you excuse us for a moment?"

I'm sure I've gone pale white. Father looks extremely displeased. I look to Daddy for help, but where Father still needs blanks filled in, Daddy's already filled them in and he's no more thrilled with me than anyone else. I can read the look on his face too, it says: "You're on your own, Sur. Next time ask for help before it comes to this."

But I don't really know what I'm even in trouble for, just that I am. Apparently everyone else got the memo except me, the lowly first lieutenant.

It only takes one sentence from Father for me to figure it out. "Why is Michael confused as to where the two of you stand within your own relationship? It was your responsibility to tell him and come to us if you had trouble. Michael doesn't know this, but you do."

Thank fuck I've learned to think about my responses before giving them to Father. I was about to say: 'Because we aren't serious enough, he should have to commit to 'just me' before I follow any rules of his.'

But that is not going to go over well. Father will feel bamboozled. I spent all that time convincing him we were serious—serious enough to take this step and Father's right, I know well what this step means, but I spitefully kept it from Michael because he still insists on an open style relationship.

With Father's eyes boring into me as they are, I don't think I can Dean Winchester my way out of this one. I take a deep breath and tell him the truth, but at least I can phrase it in a way that will get me into less trouble—I'm in trouble either way.

"The open relationship bothers me more than I'd like it to. I've been telling him he doesn't get to make rules for me until we have a different kind of commitment." Even that doesn't sound good and I know how it's going to go over.

"Don't look at your plate, look at me—though I'm glad to see you have some notion as to why you should feel ashamed."

I look up to face him, but it's not easy. I know my father will never hurt me, other than a spanking, which usually hurts my pride a lot more than hurts my ass. But even without consequences like spankings, I can't stand when I've disappointed him—it literally guts me. The look on his face is enough to get me to want to repentant in any way he deems acceptable just so I can return to his good opinion.

"Do you recall how I explained to Michael that despite the less conventional way you two operate your relationship, I was willing to overlook that and accept him into our family circle?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have any idea why I might have done that?"

"Because you thought I was okay with it. You did it for me," I say and force myself to look straight at him.

"Correct. But I don't like it Dean. I don't like it one bit. It's the reason I initially declined your request."

He lets that sink in, but he doesn't need to—I'm already on the same page with him as to why what I did was way out of line. I wanted things with Michael so bad, I did this knowing what it means to our family, I just wanted to see him commit in some way, but like Daddy said, this wasn't fair to Papa.

"I'm extremely disappointed Dean."

I can feel the tears there, but I'm trying not to cry. I've already been completely unfair, crying makes it more unfair—Papa always folds to Daddy and I crying—and I deserve every bit of his ire.

"I should tell you to end it. That you should wait until you are more mature, because I can see you are not. But that wouldn't be fair to Michael. I can't even believe I'm saying this, but he is taking this more seriously than you are. He's interested enough to ask questions so he can understand, he wants to commit to you any way he's able."

I can't even speak. I just nod.

"In the meantime, I suggest you figure out what you're okay with and what you're not, because I will have no choice but to tell you this is over, if you can't commit to your role in the relationship with him. It would make it a farce, if it's not already."

"Yes, sir."

"I made my decision based on what I thought I could trust of your decision making. I now question as to where you have developed in that area."

Just so you don't think he's putting me down, or anything like that, he's wondering out loud where I may be developmentally because of the Demon brand Modlenol Crowley injected me with. It's hard to say where I'm really at in that category and thus I get 'graded' on my actions far more than someone else my age would. It's been a guessing game for my parents my whole life, therefore, they give and take away privileges purely based on my behavior rather than my age as other parents might. I personally feel, in this case, that what I did was exactly the behavior of a seventeen-year-old, but it doesn't matter what I think at the moment. It matters what he thinks and he clearly does not.

"I'm cutting back your curfew until further notice. We can revisit the topic before you leave for Texas."

That sucks. That sucks a lot and he's pretty pissed at me to be quite so harsh. He knows how much I already dislike my current curfew. But arguing once Father's issued a punishment is met with him extending your sentence. I once ended up grounded for four months because I couldn't keep my stupid mouth shut.

My hands are balled into fists when I say, "yes, sir."

He lets out a heavy exhale. "Okay. I think you're sufficiently berated. But we've got one more thing to deal with, which will require Daddy and Michael. It's time for us to join them."

"Yes, sir," I say, but I don't think I can go in there just yet. "P-Papa? Can you… Can you forgive me?"

"Oh Dean. I'm harsh, I know, but surely you know I'll always forgive you. C'mere, Kiddo."

I practically dive into his arms for a much needed hug. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean any of it. I didn't mean to hurt you, or disappoint you."

"I know. You're young. We all make mistakes, angel."

I nod into his neck.

He ruffles my hair. "All right. Let's join them before they think I've roasted you alive."

"You pretty much did."

"I'd say you got off pretty lucky. You don't want to know what my father would have done to me."


I run to Daddy when we reach the living room. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

He happily accepts me into his arms. "What am I going to do with you Dean Winchester?" He says only slightly cross. "You and I are having our own chat later, Sur."

I nod.

"Have a seat next to Michael please Dean," Father says.

Michael's his own arctic wind and after this next conversation, I'm sure he's going to want to have a chat of his own with me.

"I have a much clearer understanding of the situation. I can better answer your question Michael. What my son was supposed to explain to you, but failed to mention for reasons you two can discuss later, was that you should begin by coming up with a foundational set of rules. I suggest you begin with just one at a time. If you're going to be Dean's Head of House someday Michael, Dean will owe you a particular level of respect. I further suggest you make the first rule something of that nature. So he knows you outrank him, that he is responsible and accountable to you. Does that make it more clear?"

"Oh it does, sir. And I have some ideas that perhaps we could go over, in private?" In private means 'without Dean.' Yeah, he's mad too. Everyone's mad at Dean. It's a whole fucking party of them all being mad at me. I'm not saying I don't deserve it, but it's still shitty.
"That's a good idea Michael. Let's move this conversation over to my study. Dean, Sam, excuse us."

That's a good idea Michael? Since when did those two become so buddy-buddy? I glare after them as they leave. Daddy bursts out laughing at me. "You can thank yourself for that Dean Daniel. I've got no sympathy for you."

"Well someone should."

"C'mon. While those two head off to plot your doom, I'll bet you and I could get a couple of games of crib in. It's time you heard a few stories about your father and I."

Chapter Text

"Don't worry, I'm not going to chastise you anymore, Sur. I'm pretty sure your father did a good enough job."

"Then why are you still 'suring' me?"

"I'm disappointed, I suppose. You and I already talked about this."

This is starting to sound like a lecture, but I did ask. I look at my hands. "I'm sorry. You're right. Have at me, you deserve to get your say in too."

He laughs. "C'mere baby boy."

I slide across the bench and lean into him, he puts his arms around me in a kind of motherly embrace and cards his fingers through my hair. "Daddy just worries about you is all."

I hate worrying him; I know I'm not the easiest kid; half the time I hide shit from him is so he won't worry. "I don't think I ever told you that before your father and I got together, he refused to call me his boyfriend too, like Michael's doing now."

"Wait? He did?"


"But I thought you two were always gaga over each other?"

"Oh, we were, but he was terrified I wouldn't accept the Winchester way, so he tried to push me away."

"So what's Michael's excuse? He is accepting our ways, or so he says."

"When has Michael ever made you a promise he didn't keep? Or has made up to you when it's something he had to let you down for on account of his father?"

"Never. I know."

"This isn't a small commitment Dean, open relationship or not. Maybe you should talk to some of our 'other' friends. Maybe they can give you a different point of view on relationships. Unless of course you want to break it off with Michael, you always can."

"I, no—no way. I don't want that."

"Okay, Sugar. I'm not saying that's what you should do, but if you're unhappy—"

"I'm not."

Daddy doesn't like my answer.

"The open thing's not my favorite, but there is some benefit to me… All right, okay, maybe I should talk to some of your 'other' friends."

"Thank-you. Both your father and I will feel better. And if you promise to do that, I'll spare you stories of your father and I tonight."

"I will Daddy."

"But can I give you one piece of advice?"


"You've got to try to anticipate the needs of someone like Michael. He won't even be able to help himself—you know what your father's like and he isn't even an angel. When you know something bothers him, don't antagonize him. Try to find a rule for it that can make you both happy. Things will go much smoother for you."

Daddy's right and I know I should, but Michael pisses me off sometimes. We pull out the crib board and Daddy keeps his promise not to chastise me anymore, or tell me stories. I actually like his stories about him and Father, but right now I'd rather just play crib.

"They've been in there a long time," I say after a few games. It's making me fucking nervous. "They've been in there long enough to knit an afghan."

"Stop worrying," Daddy says.

"Well wouldn't you worry if they were talking about you?"

"I'm not sure. Why would your papa and Michael be talking about me?" he teases.

"Not helping, Daddy."

"Okay, sweetheart. I'm sorry. But you really have nothing to worry about. Don't you trust Michael?"

"Of course."

"Your father?"


"Then see? Just relax, sugar. That's part of it. Trust Michael to make good decisions."


Michael and Father finally emerge a while later and saunter into the kitchen together; Father has his arm around Michael like they're good pals. What the fuck happened in there. I think I'd better contact Uncle Bobby, get him to look up curses; regular and angel, because clearly they've both been caught in a web of dark magic.

My whole life (my Winchester life) I've never wanted anything more than to see those two pal up. But now, I'm pretty sure I have to break them up. "All this time I never realized how funny, Michael is," Father says.

Michael, funny?

"Your father's a real comedian himself, Dean. I didn't know humans could be so entertaining."

My father is as equally 'unfunny' as Michael. "I didn't realize talking about me was such a hoot."

"Oh, no. We stopped talking about you ages ago, that part of the conversation was rather short, actually. Don't worry, we weren't laughing about you, Dean," Michael says.

Yeah, like that makes me feel better.

"Maybe we should let them talk, Cassy?"

"Oh, right. Sorry, Kiddo. I didn't mean to take up too much of Michael's time. If you go anywhere, back by ten. But Michael can stay here as long as you two need to talk. This is important."

Whoa wait, ten? When he said he'd be rolling my curfew back, I assumed eleven, which I was already disappointed about. Ten is ridiculous. But now is the wrong time to argue. Fact: All times are the wrong times to argue with Papa, so I decide to be smart and leave it. A least Michael can stay. They usually let him stay past curfew anyway. He's always been an exception to the rules, even when Papa hated him—though it does depend on his mood.

"Yes, sir," I say and wait for him to leave the room to complain.

"Can you fucking believe that? Ten? I think I was thirteen or fourteen the last time I had to be home by ten."

"Then don't misbehave," Michael says, not sorry for me in the least.

"Sorry, I forgot. You two are BFF. Best Friends for fucking-ever."

"Shouldn't that be BFFF?"

"You know what I mean."

"We're not best friends Dean."

"Sure looked like it."

"Are you going to be like this for the rest of the night?"

"No, I just," I look at my feet. "You're mad at me too. I don't want you to be mad. Can you just lecture me and be done with it?" I think finally some of the things Daddy's been saying have rubbed through my thick skull and I decide to go with honesty instead of using my own special brand of Dean deflection, because I know Michael will appreciate the honesty. This night's just got one of those awful feelings to it, ya know? I want it to be over.

I'm still surprised when the immovable Michael softens. "I was mad. Until you said that. How do you fucking do that?" I look up. He shakes his head and holds his hand out for me. "Will you come with me?"

He's asking? He must be able to read my look of shock. "Don't get used to it. But you and I need to figure something out and I want to make sure all of it's done by receiving your permission."

Holy fuck. What did my father say to him?

"Then I will go back to telling you what to do," he smirks.

"Yeah, we'll see." I take his hand. He leads me outside to the back of the property where I begged Father to help me build a tree house one year. I started a 'secret' club there when I was eight with some kids. Daddy always wanted me to have 'play dates' every week. It was often the guys from my hockey team. Hockey's always been the one thing I haven't been held too far back in. When I was younger, my smaller size sometimes held me back in a division, but I was always good, so it still felt good to play even if I was repeating, which the coaches were willing to let me do (what can I say? They wanted to win). It was also around 'age' seven or eight that dexterity didn't seem to be as much of an issue as it had in other years. I maintained and honed my skills, so once I grew in size, and my parents felt comfortable with letting me play with the bigger kids, moving on was easy. It did mean I didn't always play with the same kids when I was younger, but I've been with the same team three years running now and I'm fucking proud of that—they haven't had to hold me back. I'm lucky Daddy let me play hockey at all. He was real hesitant at first, but then he became the biggest hockey Mama you ever saw. That's right. I said Mama. Are you surprised?

But back to the tree house. It's big. Both Michael and I can still fit in it at the same time and easily. It's actually pretty kick ass. It was hell getting Papa to say yes, but when he did, he said, "When Winchester's do things, we do things right." And he helped me build a tree house—house. In fact, sometimes I still come here to think when I need to. Of course now I prefer going for a ride in Baby, but this place is special to me, so it does the trick too.

We lean against the railing outside of the 'house' part on its deck (yep, it's got a deck). Michael looks at me with his ageless eyes and it's the way he always looks at me, I'm sure of it, but I see him differently. I'm trying to take Daddy's advice; it's working a bit. "Dean. I haven't acknowledged your complaints regarding our 'relationship' because I didn't want to and I know that's a selfish thing to do, but I did it anyway. I suppose I understand why you tried to trick me into a commitment in the form of Sunday dinners, and why you feel you don't owe me the same kind of respect your daddy gives your father. So before this can continue, before we continue, I need you to be okay with our relationship as such. I can commit to you in the ways you've asked; to your family, to everything, but we take other lovers Dean. That is my stipulation. If you're not okay with it, we can simply go back to the way things were, or," he sighs. "We can simply be friends."

I feel like my guts are being torn out. I can't help crying. The tears are fucking there and I hate them. I wipe at them furiously and turn away from him. I don't want him seeing me cry like this; the heartbroken sort of cry. Oh God it hurts. Is this, fuck. Is this goodbye?

"Jesus, Dean. How do I make that stop, you're, fuck, I have to clean something. Can your paltry human eyes even see how incredibly dirty it is up here? Has this place even seen a container of pine sol? I forbid you coming back to this place until it's been properly disinfected—"

I know he's not trying to make me laugh, but it does, it's so Michael and I know he's reaching the same level of upset as me—it's his version of crying. I have seen Michael cry. Angels aren't supposed to cry, but he does. He often worries he's turned part human due to the lack of grace.

I wipe as many tears away as I can. "Michael," I cut him off. "I'm sorry, I'll stop, I just didn't expect you to fucking break up with me."

"Break up with you? I did not break up with you. I'm giving you the choice to leave me if you can no longer continue with an open relationship—wait, are you saying you are choosing the friends option? Oh God. Bleach. I think I'll start in with bleach on this place and—"

I grab his hand. "Michael stop. You did say that, I freaked out. The last thing I heard is 'we can simply be friends' and the pain of that thought. Oh god. No. Whatever pain I go through at any other time I've been with you and I mean any other time, nothing compares to… No. Just no. I'm not even thinking about it. It's the one thing about us I can count on, that we are always together. I mean, I know you've kicked me out, but even in the moments I thought I believed you, I didn't compared to what you just said now. I'll find a way to, not be such a fucking brat about the open relationship thing." I don't bother going through all the questions of 'why.' I know it upsets him. I know what he'll say. It's an argument not worth having. There's some reason he can't share with me—most likely because it will hurt me—I should just leave it.

He grabs me and cements me to him holding me so tight, I can barely breathe. "Michael. Human. Crushing."

"Oh right. Sometimes I forget how fragile you are," he mocks as he releases his hold minutely, still not letting go. My whole body sighs relief at his rejoinder. It's us. This is how we do things, I don't want it any other way, except I changed things. He's giving me the option to go back to what we had before. We can forget this whole Sunday dinners thing, we can have our unofficially—official rules, the whole thing back the way it was.

But I don't want that.

I want something more concrete, even (you'll think I'm nuts) in terms of rules. I want him to commit as much as he can and more importantly, I want to commit to him. "I want you Michael, any way I can have you. I'm all in."

"Oh thank God," he says letting out a huge breath. "There are few times I've ever been so scared. I really thought you were going to say we should go back to being friends. I selfishly didn't want to give you that option, but your father suggested I should, said it was what was best for you. What does he know? He's only a human. I'm what's best for you, I'm glad you're smart enough to realize that."

I roll my eyes.

"Now that awful five minutes is over, we are never to speak of them again."

"Is that my first rule?" I ask cheekily.

"Oh no. That's just a fact. I've got something much better in mind for the first rule I'd like to give you. But before we get to that, there's one more thing that came up when I was speaking with your father I need to address."

It sounds to me they talked about me a whole lot fucking longer than they admitted to—I think they were faking their little buddy—buddy scene.

"If we are to keep the relationship open, I have to curb my," he clears his throat, "jealousy."

"Your jealousy? I thought you didn't care who I fucked?"

"It turns out I do. I discovered that at the beach yesterday. Believe me, it's not a feeling I want to feel. It's a terrible, awful feeling."

"Yeah. I know."

He ignores my snarky tone. "So your father suggested we start with two rules. The first being that we keep discussion of the open aspect of our relationship to a minimum. We both accept it and move on. There's no use fighting and being hurt over and over by a choice we've both made."

Now I'm suspicious in a new way. I can read between the lines: He doesn't want an open relationship either. He seems to enjoy all of his other lovers; I never would have dared to think he'd want to give that up for me, maybe he never thought so either. That must have changed recently, but why not just… ugh, don't go there Dean Winchester.

"Okay. I agree with that rule."

"That means we don't flaunt our other lovers in front of each other, but keep in mind, it's as I've said before, I can't help it if you show up unannounced. You take your chances with that. And I won't tell you who you can dance with at Babylon."

"Got it. Fair. But I thought Father said one rule? Why does he now say two?"

"He says it will ease my," he clears his throat again, "jealousy, if you follow another rule. This would be one that would benefit me, you understand. Gives me a modicum of 'control' over you. I know that if you were to disobey this rule, you know there would be punishment. I can feel secure knowing the chance of you doing 'the thing' would be greatly diminished due to the consequence. If you disobey, I will feel better about it having handed out said consequence and so will you."

I'm not new to any of that. Welcome to my daddy and papa's marriage. "Okay. So what's the rule?"

"It was an idea I had, I had several actually, but your father advised this one because he thinks it will benefit you specifically and our relationship in general. Our rules may not always hit all three in the 'triangle' (you, me, us) but it builds a strong foundation to begin with one that does."

I smile. He's reciting my father. I know all of this too. I won't dare tell Michael he's cute.
"I didn't realize angels got nervous."

He slaps my ass.

"Hey! Is the rule no teasing?"

"No. I enjoy teasing you too much, that wouldn't be fair."

"Okay, what is it? You're starting to make me nervous."

"No more telling me to 'Fuck Off.'"

Whoa. The rush I get to my belly when he says that is unreal. For a long time I've known I would be like Daddy. I mean, there was also a time I couldn't imagine being like Daddy, but that was a very short time. Michael's always been fairly authoritarian with me, but when I was fourteen and very much attracted to him (even though he refused to touch me saying I was way too young for this day and age's idea of appropriate) he told me that he forbid me attending my hockey team's wilderness camp out. Of course I told him to suck eggs, but fuck did that turn me on. I got so much masturbation mileage out of that one fucking sentence. But point is, after that it was undeniable; I don't just do well with rules, they fucking turn me on and I kinda dreamed (hoped) this day would come. It's a bit thrilling.

"No problem. That's easy."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

"I do a pretty good job not swearing in front of my parents, especially Daddy."

"To clarify. I don't give a fuck if you swear. It's specifically the telling me to fuck off thing. I find it disrespectful. It grates my very fragile nerves."

I didn't realize it bothered him so much. "You should have told me before."

"And would you have cared? I think you would have told me to fuck off."

He's probably right. I don't say so. "I should warn you Dean. Your father also suggested a steep consequence. He said it would define the seriousness of the commitment we are making; it would define our roles and it would show you I'm not afraid to follow through."

"When have you ever been afraid of following through?"

"It's one hundred with my paddle Dean—I've never spanked you like that before. He said once we have more rules and once we're established, we can change the severity of punishment on that one if we feel it appropriate to reflect on our other rules and consequences, but that's up to us."

True. "Well, we won't have to worry. This is an easy rule. We can knock this one out of the ball park and move onto something more difficult."

"I don't know. I think this one's pretty hard."

"Ye of little faith."

"No, I've just known you too long."

"I'm insulted. Hang on. If you talked about this with my father, that means he knows I say 'fuck.'"

"Of course he knows you say 'fuck.' Your daddy does too, they just like living in ignorance over your filthy mouth."

"You like my filthy mouth, baby."

"I do. I like it even more when it's filled with my cock."

"I thought you said this tree house was in need of bleaching. You really want to whip your dick out here? I'm surprised we're still in this tree."

"We're already dirty now."

I drag him into the tree house, in case my parents decide to go for an evening stroll about the property; in other words, they decide to check on Michael and I. I'm sure (like the swearing) they know Michael and I are fucking (I've had the sex talk from both parents, despite how completely unnecessary it was) but I'm also sure they're not about to provide me with a place to do so just yet. Maybe when I'm thirty-five.

It's still a risk inside the tree house, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. I nip at Michael's cock through his pants and smile up at him then slowly undo his belt. "I'd like you to spank me with this someday," I breathe imagining what it would feel like to have Michael do it. I'm not new to the ol' strap. My backside has tasted it in both its lives, but never from Michael and I'd really like that.

"You're going to make me cum before you even get to my cock, Dean."

I throw the belt to the side; unbutton his pants and shuck them off in one motion. Now I've got Michael's gorgeous cock in front of me; I lick up the shaft and savor it. Nothing I haven't done before, but tonight's different. I feel a bit more like Michael's mine.

I used to call him that when I was little and I know I believed it then, but along the way I'd stopped.

I take his entire length into my mouth; he throws his head back. "Yeah, Dean. Just like that."

Not good enough. I swirl my tongue under his head, but don't keep enough of my mouth on his cock to satisfy him then just when he moves his hips, I swallow down his length again.

"Quit, fucking around Dean."

I don't 'quit fucking around.' I keep on teasing him 'till he grabs my hair in his one hand, holding me in place and fucks my mouth. In three sharp thrusts he's cumming down my throat. Of course I swallow. Mission accomplished. I sneer up at him. He pulls me in for a kiss. "You don't have to tease me if you want me to be rough, Petal. All you have to do is ask. That was fucking amazing though. I don't even want to know how you're so good at that."

"Duck is bad enough. Please don't start with Petal. And some of us are born with natural talents." I feel my phone buzz in my pocket; I check it in case it's my parents. It's not. It's Holden a guy from my hockey team. They want to arrange an off-season get together. I should probably go. It's good to do that kinda shit, even if I'd rather not.

I begin a response as I've got an angel nipping at my cock. "Just a sec, Michael."

"Is that really more important than me doing this?" He begins unbuttoning my pants.

"Seriously. In a sec, Fuuhck."

He looks at me with eyes blazing while my eyes are fucking wide and scared. Not of him; scared of myself and my apparent lack of control. We both know what I almost said. "I didn't actually say it!"

He shakes his head. "I at least gave you a week, in my mind, before I thought you'd slip, but here it hasn't even been an hour."

Holy shit. Maybe I do say that to him a lot more than I thought I did. Okay, now I'm fucking worried.

"Your father's a fucking God—he said he wouldn't be surprised if his son had a sore ass at breakfast tomorrow."

I would complain about that, if I didn't just about prove him right. "Okay, so maybe I do say that more than I should. It's a good rule, especially if it bothers you."

"Wait a minute. Who are you? You've got to be an imposter. My Dean would never concern himself over what bothers me. Why, just the other day at the beach, he wouldn't even put a little fucking sunscreen on and I'm still trying to figure out how many cancer cells he's accumulated."

Okay, I think he's seriously overacting about that, but maybe (and yes you're hearing it here first folks) I am a bit too much of a shithead sometimes. "I was an ass yesterday, okay? I didn't consider how you might feel, however paranoid I might have felt you were."

He doesn't take my half-joke in the lighthearted nature I mean it. Half-joke because it's kinda true. "Look, I'm going to consider your feelings more. Okay?"

"See that you do."

I don't bother asking he be reasonable in return. I don't think it's possible for him. I know my father often tried to be a certain way for Daddy, a way he just isn't and it never turned out well for them. Michael's an angel. That adds a whole other tangled necklace to de-knot.

"I meant it when I said I was all in Michael. I won't be such a brat anymore."

He bursts out laughing. "That's like trying to say you and I are not coming straight back here tomorrow to disinfect this tree house if you ever want to come up here again. You are a brat Dean. A pain in my fucking ass most of the time because of it, but it's who you are and I accept that." He leans in to kiss my lips. "Besides, what fun will I have if I can't spank you for something?"

I shove him. And fuck. Least this time I don't come close to saying it. But I do think the words 'fuck off.' I think Dean Winchester; you're screwed.


"Morning, Daddy!" I snatch a cheese biscuit off the plate he's putting together; he rolls his eyes at me.

"You're in a good mood this morning. I assume everything went well?"

"Yeah. It went great."

"I'm glad to hear it. So, I'm dying to know. What did he say for your first rule, baby?"

Aw fuck. Daddy's going to kill me. I could just tell him about the first 'rule,' which is really more just a mutual respect thing, but apparently he knows when I'm lying. "I can't tell him to fuck off anymore."

"Dean Daniel Jonathan."

"You asked Daddy."

He sets the butter and a coffee before me at the table. "I did."

"Oh c'mon. As if you don't know I have a sailor's mouth like Uncle Jensen. I think it says a lot about my character that I almost never swear in front of you, Daddy." I look up at him sweetly.

"And it better be kept that way, Sur."

"Yeah, Mama."

"What are you 'Mamaing' your daddy about this early in the morning, kiddo?"

"Oh hey, morning Papa." Papa kisses my head. "I told him about the rule Michael made for me." I don't bother explaining since he already knows.

Papa has to bite his cheeks not to laugh. "You think that's funny, do you Castiel Winchester?" Daddy says.

"Hey. He's the one with the potty mouth, why am I in trouble?"

"He probably learned it from you and Jen." I know Daddy can't believe that. He's just sulking.

"Have you started packing yet, kiddo?" Papa says to change the subject. Oh right, Texas.

"Uh, yeah," I say biting my lip. Fuck. I un-bite my lip.

"No he hasn't," Daddy rats me out and smiles in an all-knowing way. Okay, okay. I get it. There's a lot he pretends to believe and he's irked at me. I'd better make it up to him later.

Papa's unimpressed. "It's a good thing you have an earlier curfew then. You can work on packing."

"Yeah, about that. Ten?"

"What about it?" That's his 'I hope you're not arguing with me' tone.

"Nothing," I mumble.

"Good. Start packing, tonight."

"Yes, sir." Jesus. No one's willing to give me a fucking inch these days.

Daddy ruffles my hair. "I'll help you, sugar. We're going to Nana and Grandaddy Colt's first this year."

"We are?"

"Yep. Just the way it worked out with the planning. Nana's got more company coming the last two weeks of July and there won't be room for us and this works better for your father's schedule too."

"Gotcha." We usually go to Nana's the last two weeks, on account of the party we usually have for my daddies's birthdays. They were actually born on the same fucking day. What are the fucking chances of that?

"Not to worry, Nana's still going to have her big party."

Nana's still as spunky and wiley as ever, even in her mid-seventies. She says it's all the great-grandkids that keep her young.

"And you remember I'm leaving tomorrow, Dean?" Papa says. "I'll be back Friday evening."

"I remember Papa." Father travels a lot for work. He took a lot of time away from travelling when I was younger (still travelling for the bigger events), but he began again as I got older.

We finish breakfast on a positive note. We actually end up having a lot of fun, the three of us. They're strict parents, sure, but only because they care so damn much—it's actually nice ninety-five percent of the time.


I drive Baby to school. It's a co-ed private school I attend with Hannah. "Why are you smiling like that?" she says when she meets me at my locker.

"No reason."

"You and Michael are in the black this week I take it?"

"Not all my moods have to do with Michael."

"Pretty much Dean. Maybe you should try not letting him govern your every emotion? Huh?"

"Who asked you?"

"I'm only teasing."

That didn't really sound like teasing. "So, this weekend. Miller's?"

"Yeah. Definitely." I'll wait to tell her about the shortened curfew. At least 'till after first period.

Suddenly there's an arm between Hannah and I, a palm flat against the locker. "Excuse us Hannah, I want to talk to Dean."

"The answer's no Davis. C'mon Hannah." Brad Davis is your typical, ridiculously hot, captain of the football team guy. He's a bit hard to resist at times, since he's exactly what I like: Tall, muscular, domineering, and did I mention ridiculously hot?

"Just, hear me out Dean, please." And by the way, his family's also from Texas, so guess who I get to see at the Church fundraiser every summer? Yep he's a church boy and unlike Michael, he is the kinda boy you take home to Mama, if you know what I mean.

Hannah and I look at each other. She's asking me if I'm all right and I nod for her to leave. She knows we'll meet up after first period.

"Okay. You've got five minutes, Davis. Shoot."

"We're having an off-season scrimmage game with York house this Friday. I'd like you to come Dean. I'll take you out after."

Just so we're clear, Brad Davis isn't the sort to let me anywhere near Babylon. He's extremely goody-goody. I'm not even sure he swears all that often. Daddy would love him.

"Can't. Have to be home by ten. Curfew."

"I'll have you home in plenty of time for your curfew Dean."

How many fucking times do I have to say no to this guy?

"You've never given me a chance Dean. Just give me one. You kept saying all season you'd come to one of my games and never did."

I did go to lots of games actually. I was just under the bleachers most of the time. Fucking cheerleaders. I'm not really that into football. I don't mind it, but I fucking love hockey. And shooting. I also got into target shooting when I was young. I don't compete as much anymore, but I'm good. Shooting is the one skill I never lost from my old life.

"I'm in a relationship."

"I know about your 'relationship.' Everyone knows about that relationship, Dean."

"If you're going to fucking talk about my relationship in fucking air quotes, then you can forget it."

"Okay, okay. That was uncalled for. I'm sorry, it's just, I hate how that guy treats you."

Everyone's entitled to their own stupid opinion I suppose. "We done here? Because I am."

"Look. I've screwed this up royally. What I meant was, I respect the kind of relationship you're in, even if I don't agree with it. I will also respect whatever rules go along with that."

"You can't kiss me on the lips."

"But I could kiss you other places," he smiles suggestively. I can't help but get a little thrill at that.

"Once we fuck it's game over."

"I don't plan on making love to you until our wedding night, Dean. That would be wrong." He holds up his finger to show me his chastity, I mean purity ring. Yeah. Been there, done that. Daddy tried that one with me. I immediately argued that I remembered enough about the sex I had in my previous life to know I wasn't anywhere near a virgin. Daddy of course said God would let me start again in this life and believe me I wanted to do it for him. I really fucking did. So I took the fucking vow and consequently broke it. Thankfully Jesus isn't the only one who's forgiving—Daddy is too. I felt so fucking bad for months after that.

Wedding night? And I still can't believe Captain of football, king of the school's, got his purity ring. I need to take the merchandise for a test drive, there's no way I'm marrying anyone 'till I know they kick-ass in bed. But that's besides the point right now. "Hold it cowboy. I haven't even said I'd go on a date with you and you've already got our nuptials planned?"

"We're meant for each other Dean. I know it."

"You're reading the wrong star chart, Sugar."

"Jesus Murphy. I'm screwing this up more. Look, just one date. Please. I'll never bother you again if you just give me one date."

Now he has my attention folks. "Okay. One date then you never bother me again."

"I think you'll want me to," he says smiling like the fucking sun. I can't believe how happy I just made this dude. He leans in and plants a soft kiss on my cheek—in front of anyone passing by. "Thanks Winchester. I'll pick you up at five-thirty on Friday."

"Five-thirty. That's pretty early. Don't these kinda things usually start at seven?"

"Don't you want to see us warm up?"

No I don't. But I guess you only get one night with Dean Winchester, I might as well make it good for him. "Fine. See you then."


Ugh. Nothing's easy when you're Dean Winchester. Somehow the whole school knows by noon that I've got a date with their football captain. Fuck. I'm in a really bad mood and then Michael texts me to say: Cum to my place after school. Pun intended.

Normally that would make me happy and I'd be fucking counting down the moments, but I feel like he's going to find out about this Brad thing ('cause in case you haven't already figured it out, the whole thing's a bad fucking idea) and despite our 'pact,' 'rule' what have you, it's not going to go over well.

So then, I almost fucking text him to fuck off. Even have it written then I quickly erase it. Good thing he wasn't in front of me just now. Wow. I do that a lot. He hasn't even done anything to me this time. Not that Michael's a saint (well, you know the kind I mean) he does his share of shit in our 'relationship' too, but this one's all on me. Fuck, now I'm air-quoting relationship in my head. That whole conversation with Brad really shook me up for some reason.

I go for straight up avoidance, but take a polite approach. Sorry, can't. Gotta study for finals and pack for Texas. There. That's a perfectly acceptable excuse for Michael. That's got my parents written all over it. And it's mostly true.

Something the matter, Duck?

He picks now to be fucking sweet? What the hell's happened since yesterday? It's like the whole world's been turned upside down. Nothing's the matter, I text back.

Please cum, I won't keep you LONG. You can study at my place. I get all of his sexual suggestions.

Wow. Papa's things he suggested must have worked fucking well. I don't even know what to do with this Michael. I'll be there.

It should be a fucking sex innuendo I realize after I send my message. It's this thing we do. So I'm not surprised when Michael's waiting for me outside of the school when the bell rings. "Your precious car is already at my place."

The amount I want to tell him to fuck off right now is at an all time high. "What the hell?"

"You were acting strange. I was worried. Come."

I huff, but follow him. Yeah like a fucking duckling. Or so I think until he grabs my hand. "Why are you sulking?" he says pulling me up to his side. "Is it because you don't like my angels driving your car? I made sure it was Tom. I know you don't mind him."

Huh. That's unusually considerate. "Sorry. I'm fine. It's good to see you."

"Good." He opens the jeep door for me and I get in. Things are better from there. He barely waits 'till we're in the door before he's undressing me; he fucks me over every piece of furniture he has. Why was I going to pass this up again? Stupidity. I was thinking with the wrong brain—I should always think with my dick.

We're naked and panting on the floor when we're spent. Michael grabs a large pillow off the couch so we can both lie on that together and continue to bask in the after sex glow. "Were you a good boy today?"

I push him. "Yes, sir."

"Sir? Hmm, I like that."

"Don't get used to it."

"Maybe it will be rule someday?"

"I have to agree to the rules, remember? I'm not agreeing to that."

"Not even if I ask nicely?"

"You don't ask things. I won't have to worry about it," I tease him.

"True," he sighs. " I suppose I should let you study now."

Oh right. My fake studying. I'm so prepared for my finals. Daddy wouldn't let me not be. I already know my stuff backwards and forwards, but looking things over one more time couldn't hurt. "Okay, but you need to feed me. My human encumbrances are setting in."

"I already sent Tom to get you burgers."

"What the hell? Are you okay Michael? Wait. Did my father curse you? Check your body for a coin, a symbol, anything."

He laughs. "I'm not cursed—well I guess that's debatable in some ways. Your father hasn't cursed me. He just made me realize some things."

"Okay, Romeo." Michael's being so nice it's unnerving. "Whatever he's told you, I liked you fine before."

"But I expect respect from you; therefore, I in turn must offer respect to you."

"Yeah, I get that Michael. I feel plenty 'respected.' But I like our slightly dysfunctional-function, yah know? It keeps things interesting. Can I have a beer?"

He eyes me suspiciously, but gets me a beer, opens it and hands it to me. "You shouldn't be drinking while you study. Alcohol kills brain cells in humans."

"Have you been reading Wikipedia again?" I take a sip.

"That's common knowledge Dean."

"Thank-you professor. Thankfully, I've got plenty of them. I'll be just fine. So when does the disinfecting of the tree house happen?" I change the subject.

"Already done."

"You're kidding."

"You were acting funny. It drove me crazy all day, Dean."

"I'm sorry I worried you. Everything's fine. I promise."

"Then why are you biting your lip?"

Okay, does everybody know about that?

"Fuck. Michael, I'm okay. I mean it."

He eyes me suspiciously. "Go study."

Other than Michael's obsessive worrying over me all afternoon, it's a pretty good afternoon. Father even gives me permission to miss dinner, so long as I'm home in time to get some packing done and I stay and eat almost every burger Tom brings back (Michael ends up eating one). I thought they might want to 'get rid of the kid' for the evening anyway, since Father goes out of town tomorrow, if you know what I mean.

Yeah, everything's just peachy, until I get a text from Brad. Looking forward to Friday Darlin'.

Jesus Christ. Now I have a stalker.

"That. Whoever that text is from was the reason you were acting so funny this morning."

"What? Seriously what?" How can he know that?

"I know you better than anyone else Dean. I make it my business. Who is that? Are you planning another hunt with your uncles? Because I'm telling you now, you're not going."

"Just calm the fuck down. I'm not going hunting."

"Who, Dean?"

"I thought we're not supposed to 'flaunt' our other dates."

"You're not flaunting, I asked. A date? What happened to no names and numbers exchanged?"

"Oh, is that why you're pissed? It wasn't like that. He's kind of a friend. I've known him for years, anyway, he's had my number a long time. I can't exactly ask for it back just because he wants to go on a date."

"A fuck you mean. It's a fuck and leave policy. You date me."

Okay, I can't even fucking help it. Michael jealous is fucking thrilling. My heart races and my body thrums with an excited energy. "Right. Fuck and leave. That's all it is. I'm mostly just getting him off my back. He's sorta had this thing for me for years and when we go back to Texas he's always around, so we kind of hang out sometimes, but I've never dated him. Unrequited love I guess," I joke. Michael's not laughing. He actually looks like he's about to go looking for Brad and tear him apart.

"Why was I not made aware you had someone pining after you?"

"'Cause I didn’t think you cared. Until yesterday, I didn't even know you were, well, all that into me."

"How could you not? I spend most of my fucking time with you Dean. I've shed blood for you, I've protected you, still do and I'm committed to your family for you. What the fuck else do you want? So we have a few extra lovers on the side. What's the big deal in comparison to all that? Grow up."

I feel like crying and running at the same time, but I keep a stiff upper lip. "Okay. What I said was unfair. You've been there for me. You do so much for me. I am grateful Michael. Look, if you're upset about this date, I assure you, you don't have to be. We're just friends. More like acquaintances."

"I'm not worried about the date. You're not going. I forbid it."

Okay. That just pisses me off. I didn’t even care about the date and I might have cancelled it if he'd of just fucking asked, but now I'm going. I'm so fucking going. I'm leaving here too. "You can't forbid it. I can fuck who I like. That's our deal. We both have to accept it, remember?"

"Not him, Dean."

"Fuck off, Michael." Oh shit.

"Not even twenty-four hours."

The disappointment in his tone is crushing. I have to get out of here. I grab my books stuffing them in my backpack and run to the Loft's sliding door that's quickly blocked by Tom. Fuck. Michael's going to keep me here, just so he can spank my ass, isn't he? I'm surprised when he says: "Let him go, Tom."

I run.


There's really only one place I want to go right now: Home to my parents. So that's where I go, even if the conversations not going to be a typical one you're supposed to have with your parents.

My parents are kinky bastards; that's no secret. Not that they've ever done anything in front of me, but let's just say they forgot to lock the door a couple times. Don't worry, I'm not scarred for life or anything; I just learned real quick to fucking knock. Which is what I do now. "Daddy? Papa?"

"Uhh, just a second Dean Bean." I hear an 'oof,' and then some laughing and then fuck, I hear Papa say "we'll finish this later, Baby." Then there's kissing.

Those two. I'll bet they'll still be doing kinky shit when they're ninety. Daddy opens the door in his housecoat and pajama pants. "Oh, sweetheart. What happened?" he says when he sees my red, tear streaked face.

"I screwed up Daddy. I don't know what to do. I need help."

"Dean? Are you okay? You hurt?" Papa says starting into a panic.

"I'm okay Papa, it's just, with Michael, I broke our rule and I didn't mean to and it was awful." Most of my words are mush because I'm fucking crying again. Daddy pulls me inside the room and to him as he looks at Papa over my head.

"Dean, baby. You did the right thing coming to us for help. I'm proud of you—we both are. All of this can be fixed. I know exactly how you feel. I felt the same way I first broke your father's first rule and I did, royally. All I had to do was leave my cell phone on. Imagine his dismay when I left it off all day and he had to look all 'round the county for me."

"But it hasn't even been t-twenty-f-four hours, Daddy."

Papa laughs. "Your daddy didn't last much longer than that either."

"He didn't?" I say pulling away to look at Daddy. But he's so good at following rules now.

"Nope. Your father and I messed up so many times. But unlike you, we refused the help we were offered thinking we knew better. You've done so good coming to us."

I have? That makes me feel a world better. "In our defense, my father isn't the most approachable, which is why we've worked on being different for you, angel. We realized later on, as prickly as he can be, he was still a valuable resource. And since you and Grampa have a much more easy going relationship, we encourage you to seek his help too."

I nod. "C'mon. Come sit on the bed Pumpkin," Daddy says.

We all sit on the bed together and I tell them the whole thing about the rule breaking and Brad without getting into detail on the whole 'fuck and leave' policy. My parents are well aware I have sex. Strict as they are, after the whole purity ring failure, they took a whole new stance on it. Believe me, it wasn't as simple as I'm making it sound now, but that's a story for another time. Let's just say we all accept the fact I'm sexually active.

Of course my parents worry (whose parents wouldn't) but I'm careful as possible. You'll notice Michael and I don't use protection, but he's the only one. He can't get STI's, or STD's, or carry them and pass them to me. Of course they are not aware of just how many partners I've had. They think my numbers can still fit on my one hand. Something else I'll let them think, probably for life. Because believe me, it's still a point of contention, but they know I'm going to do it and they'd rather have an open door for me to come to on such a subject; not wanting me to get the impression 'sex is bad and all that.' I'm just lucky it's an area they're particularly open about. I wish they felt half as open about teenagers and curfews.

"I swear it was just a date, to get him off my back."

"This is a tricky one," Daddy says. "I can see why Michael's upset, but you are within your rights sweetheart. You haven't done anything wrong in making a date with Brad, regardless of the circumstances being a little altered from yours and Michael's norm, but it's clearly affecting him Dean."

"He's not supposed to let it."

"True, but it is and you are aware that it is."

"But what about all the times Michael's aware of when it bothers me?"

"It's a good point, but it's not a counterpoint to how you should treat him. The bottom line is: Does it feel good knowing you are doing something that hurts him?"

"Obviously not, but I'm confused. We weren't supposed 'get into detail' about our other lovers, or whatever that means."

"If I may interject," Papa says. "First, if you don’t know what that means, you and Michael really ought to define it better. Second, I think that if you truly had someone you were opposed to Michael seeing, he'd reject him or her without a second thought. You want to date this boy Dean."

"What? No I don't. I've told him no for years."

"I believe you believe that. But why else would you tell him no? Have you said no to anyone else who has seriously pursued you?"

Fuck. That mind fucks me. I don't have an answer to his question. And if you're thinking purity ring, think again. I've taken down at least eight purity ring shmucks. I'm sure I could convince Brad.

"I think you should. I think as much as you love Michael, part of you needs to see what it's like to 'date' someone else. Someone who doesn't just want sex like some of you other non-Michael partners. When you go see Michael for your punishment over breaking your rule, talk to him about it. I'm not saying he'll like it, but he'll understand, eventually."

"What makes you think I'm going to go to him to get the spanking of my life?"

They both laugh at me. "I'd like to see you try not to," Papa says. "The guilt will eat you alive. You're exactly like your daddy in that department."

And my stupid parents never seem to be wrong. Can I hope they'll be wrong on this one?

"Try not to worry about it 'till at least tomorrow. C'mon Dean Bean. Let's go do a bit of packing then why don't you have an early night? You've still got school tomorrow anyway."

Man. Everything seems so fucked up, but they have a way of making the fucked up sound so easy. I love how they can do that; I've got the world's best parents. "Okay Daddy."

I give Papa a hug. "What's that for Kiddo?"

"Because you're a good Papa."

Chapter Text

When I wake up the next morning it's the first thing I think of. Fuck. Yep. My parents are right. Michael spanking me is inevitable, because I won't feel right until he does. I hate what I did. Hate that I broke our rule. It's something that meant something to him; it means something to me—it was a commitment I made that I fucking broke. I can do better.

Of course Michael sent me a text while I was packing with Daddy. He wanted to make sure I got home okay and for the first time ever, I didn't want to tell him to Fuck Off. I feel so fucking bad. It clearly bothers him.

I guess it's not very respectful. Could you imagine if Daddy told Papa to fuck off? Hell, could you imagine if I told either one of them to fuck off? I never would. I never have. Michael making it as a rule, not only says just how much it bothers him, but reminds me to respect him as the authority figure in our relationship.

I think I always thought I did. But without anything official, I've been following stuff as it pleases me. And with me exercising greater respect, that automatically gives Michael greater 'control.' I'll start thinking how my other actions affect him; I'll want to do less things to piss him off; we'll work better as a team. Hey. The triangle: Him, me, us.

He really is trying.

I shower, dress and head down for breakfast. Right away I hear an extra voice. It's Michael. What's he doing here? He looks beautiful in his navy suit with his pale blue shirt underneath, hands causally in his pockets; he's smiling at Daddy as Daddy mixes up a batch of pancakes. His smile is quickly turned toward me when I walk into the room and set my book bag down.

"Hey Dean Bean," Daddy says.

"Hey Daddy," I say giving him a kiss on his cheek, but my whole awareness in on Michael. I'm surprised when he silently crooks a finger at me; I go to him and feel more whole than I have since last night, when he wraps his arms around me. I don't mean to cry, but I shed a few tears on his coat. He breathes me in.

"I had to see you, Duck. And I came to talk to your father. I've also had a nice chat with your daddy."

"I'm glad you're here," I say pulling away. "You staying for breakfast?"

"I already invited him, sweetheart," Daddy says.

I drag him by the hand to sit down. We're both quiet knowing we need to talk, but it's not the right time, so we just sit and stare at each other—fucking God we're mushy this morning.

Papa walks in wheeling his small suitcase with him. "Good morning, Dean."

"'Morning Papa. You all set to go?"

"Yep. Just need breakfast and goodbyes from my family."

It's a good breakfast, but there's always a bit of sadness in the air when Father leaves. Daddy can sometimes be known to mope, so I usually chill with him while Father's gone. Daddy always tries to tell me he's fine and to go out—he'd rather me hang out with friends, but I stubbornly stay home with him anyway.

When we do say goodbye, Daddy's trying not to cry and they full on make-out at the door. "C'mon you two. We've got kids in the room," I joke to lighten the mood for Daddy. I can't stand it when he's sad and neither can Papa. Then again, neither Daddy nor I like it when Papa's gone. It's just a sucky thing altogether.

Least my joke has the effect I was going for. They pull away smiling at each other, I get a slightly chastising look from Papa, but he's not mad—he knows what I'm up to. I get a big hug and a 'be good' like always. I tend to get up to slightly more mischief when he's gone.

Papa even shakes Michael's hand and gives him a fatherly 'pat-on-the-back hug.' "Take care of them for me Michael."

"I will sir." And Michael says they're not BFFF. Father doesn't just say that shit to anyone.

When Father leaves, Michael and I make ready to go. "I'll drive you to school; I'm coming to pick you up after anyway. It will save my angel peoples," he leaves off the word 'dicks,' but it's implied, "from having to drive your car home."

Normally I'd complain. We'd get in the car and I'd accuse him of being a controlling asshole and tell him he can't tell me what to do. But I'm trying to see it different; how Daddy sees Father.

Right away I notice the tension in his body. I think if it were up to him, he'd take me straight to his loft and have me skip school altogether. He's in pain. I can ease his pain by letting him do this. Suddenly I don't mind. "All right, but I need to be home for dinner—"

"Actually sweetheart, I have plans. You don't need to be home for dinner."

"Plans?" Daddy almost never has plans. I can't help feeling affronted.

He runs a hand through my hair and fixes my school jacket. "I have friends too," he says.

"Of course. Okay then. I'll be home later." He kisses my forehead. Michael and I leave.

"I'm sorry, Michael. Fuck, I can't believe I fucked up so early in the game."

"I was harsh and unreasonable."

I laugh. "Well, you were right, we don't date other people, we never have. It's our fucked up version of cheating."

"I think you should go on the date, Dean."

"You've been talking to my father."

"Well he is my new best friend," he smirks.

"It's going to drive you crazy. I don't feel like scraping pieces of Brad off the pavement."

"Don't be silly, I don't have enough grace for that."

I smile at that bit and say more seriously, "I don't even want to go. Brad is a dick face. He thinks we're getting married."

That makes Michael laugh. "See? I've got nothing to worry about. You already said you were going to not-marry me."

"I would like to de-purity ring the smug bastard."

The hand Michael has on the steering wheel tenses up, the one closer to me relaxes, but it's fake-relaxed. "That sounds like it fits in exactly with our policy. Go on the date Dean."

We pull up to school and he leans across to kiss me. "See you later, Duck."

Yeah, he's probably just looking forward to spanking my ass. "Bye."


I'm eating lunch in the cafeteria, by myself since Hannah has some end of the year group project to put final touches on. Brad and his fifty galleons of cologne saddle up to me. "Hey lover."

"I'm not your lover Brad."

"C'mon. Let me have fun. I'm excited; it's going to be the date of the century."

Everyone's fucking staring at us. Fuck. "How about we skip the date and I show you the cock of the century outback." I waggle my eyebrows for good measure.

That makes him mad. "I told you Dean. Not 'till we're married."

I roll my eyes. "Right. I forgot." Then I get an idea. I know what will scare him the fuck away. "If you wanna marry me, you have to follow the Winchester Way. My father won't let me marry anyone who doesn't. That means you have to do what my father says, or get spanked." Countdown to when he'll never want to talk to me again in five…four…three…

"Like domestic discipline? I'd insist on it."

"What the fuck?"

"Well that is what y'all are talking about, right?"

I swallow. I was trying to freak him out, now I'm fucking freaked out. "Um, yeah." There's got to be a way of saving face. "Yeah, so when you misbehave, I'd spank your ass. You really okay with that?"

"I don't think so Dean. I'll be the one doing the spanking of your ass."

Is it written on my fucking forehead? Still, it takes my breath away. The way he says it so matter of factly. And fuck if I don't look at my plate. His hand reaches out and gently guides my chin to look up at him. "Don't worry, Darlin' only when you misbehave."

I can't help it. I'm fucking intrigued. "W-what would you, what kind of rules would you make?"

"Well first we'd be cleaning up that filthy mouth 'a yours. You can't swear like that in front of my mama and daddy."

I don't think anyone can clean up my filthy mouth. I'd like to see him try. 'Sides, like I would swear in front of his parents anyway, my daddy'd wash my mouth out himself if he caught wind of that. "I'd expect dinner on the table every night by six, just like my mama has for my daddy. And the kids in bed by a reasonable hour, so we can have grown-up time."

So he wants a fifties housewife? "My name ain't fucking June Cleaver."

"Aw. C'mon Dean. Don't knock it 'till you try it. It's just a nice wholesome way to live. Don't you want kids, baby?"

Did I want kids? Well, yeah. I sorta do. "I do, but—"

"Well someone's gotta stay home and look after them. I figured you'd want to like your daddy. You want to be like your daddy, don't yah?"

"Yeah, but—"

"See? I'm just thinking of you."

"Oh." When he puts it that way, it sounds almost, sweet.

He leans in to plant a kiss on my cheek and slides a hand through my hair. "It'll be a good life together, Dean. I swear it." He begins eating his sandwich; I stare at him dumbfounded. "I've already got several colleges interested in me for my football skills. I'm certain I'll get drafted. I'll make good money, you won't even need to work."

Okay, this is just hilarious now. I start eating my lunch. "Right, I'd just stay home all day while you went to work. What about my education? I'm going to do nothing with that. My parents expect me to go to college." As I'm mocking it, I realize that's exactly what Daddy did and I feel like an asshole.

"It's no small honor raising the kids Dean. If you really wanted a job once they're grown, I'd have no problems with that."

Man would I like to see his face if I asked if he would find 'hunting' an acceptable career. But he is right about something; I think I would like to raise the kids. You can't raise kids hunting though. That's something to think about. Well I guess you can, but I dunno, if I did have kids, I don't know I'd want to raise them on the road like my dad did my first time around. Some days, I really feel like I want join my uncles and go back to hunting, but when I'm reminded of things like having kids, I'm not so sure I want to be a hunter again. Maybe that is best left as my first life. "So how many kids do we have?"

He smiles bright, the features of his good-looking face become all that much more dreamy. "Three. Two boys and a little princess. Your daddy would love that."

Fuck. He would. It does sound kinda nice. "You're fucking funny dude."

"I mean it Dean. I plan on proving it to you starting with this Friday. I'm gonna take good care 'a you."

He's serious. Completely one hundred percent serious. "Before we pick out china patterns, let's go on the date first cowboy."


"What the fuck Michael?" When Michael comes to pick me up, he's all in fucking white. White pants and a white shirt-coat sorta thing that doesn't do up. I can see every one of his abs. He's got on his black sunglasses.

"I went shopping. You like?"

I think everyone fucking likes him in that. "You trying to look more saintly?" I hop into the jeep.

"You reek of douche bag cologne."

"Oh yeah. Brad. Get this. He sat next to me all lunch hour telling me about our children and how I'd be his fucking June Cleaver husband."

Michael laughs loud. "You've been called a lot of things, but June Cleaver's not one of them."

I laugh too, because that's the fucking truth.

"You liked it didn't you?"

"What? No."

"You want a little bitty Dean."

"Actually in my head, he was a little bitty Michael. That'd be so fucking cute. Imagine the little scowl."

"He would not have a scowl."

"Not if he took after me."

"If he takes after you, Lord help us all. One of you is already enough of a pain in my ass."

That's as far as we go. We both know we can't have any little Deans or Michaels. It's the same reason we can never get married.


"I've been waiting to fuck you all day, baby." Michael slams me into the wall inside his loft and peels my school jacket off. Holy fuck. It looks like he really went at the cleaning last night. Everything's sparkling.

"And I've been waiting to take this St. Michael get up off you since the fucking car."

"Oh no, I'm wearing this while I fuck you." He captures my lips and practically eats them, but I have to ruin his fun.

"I can't do this Michael, not until things are, resolved."

He peels himself away from me and moves to the fridge, pulling out two beers. "That's what your father said."

"I broke a rule Michael. Do you have any idea what that means in my house? There's no jury, no excuses, everyone's made aware of the rules, you break them, you're punished. It's actually a pretty good system. Simple. I like the concreteness of it all."

"I fucked up too." He takes a sip.

"Doesn't matter. Well, I mean it matters, but it's different. And it's still kind of unclear if you did fuck up—father said we should define that better."

"That's what your father said to me as well. And apparently I'm the one with the consensual authority. I'm to apologize profusely and never fucking breaking a rule again and in fact spanking you will assure you of this. It's quite the responsibility having to be perfect all the time."

"Okay, I'm sure my father didn't say that."

"Close to."

"You're going to make mistakes Michael."

"Lucky for me I don't get punished for them."

Yeah, because he's not punishing himself right now. "Because you're not wired that way. I need the guidance and the discipline. Thrive on it. If I don't get that from somewhere, the guilt will eat me alive. Trust me. One time Papa made me a deal, he wouldn't spank me until I came and asked him to. I told him I was never going to ask him. He laughed and said, "okay Kiddo." I was over his knee two days later—by my choice. I do well with rules and structure. If not I get chaotic. You know that. Besides, I have no desire to punish you, believe me."

"Yes, I know all that little Duck. I think I just don't want to spank you quite so severely." He pulls me to him and takes a swig of beer from behind my head.

"I'm sorry, were you under the impression the extremely long spankings I've endured with your angel hand were any less severe?"

"I'm not going to be easy on you."

"I don't expect you to be."

"You need to learn to obey me, Dean. Once you do, I'll feel much better I think. At least that's what your father says. Your daddy said something to that effect as well."

I nod. "Yes, sir." I tell him seriously. I know he likes it and I want him to know I'm just as committed. I can see why he'd be hesitant to spank me quite so harshly if he doesn't think I'm doing this for the right reasons.

It works. "Okay, go get my paddle please."

I put my beer down and scamper off to his office. Now for the fucked up thing you should know. Whenever Michael's given me a rule, or told me he's forbid something, or hell, a moment ago when he said I must learn to obey him, all of that gives me an excited thrill, one that goes straight to my cock.

But now that we've arrived at the actual punishment part, I'm a lot less turned on. It's like any other time I've been punished, by him. I'm reminded of how much I've disappointed him. I fucking hate disappointing Michael. But as much as I'm not looking forward to the punishment, I'm looking forward to the resolution afterward. To me, it's justice and closure mixed in one.

When I come back out to the living room, that's when I notice Tom's not there. He's always 'there.' Michael sent him away for this. Tom's seen me get spanked plenty, so right away I can see how different this time is for Michael.

"Thank-you," he says when I hand him the paddle. He points to the sofa with his eyes. "Over there."

I nod and make my way over to the sofa. When he makes his way over and sits down, I'm actually fucking nervous and I don't know why. I've had plenty of spankings from Michael. I trust him. The whole thing just seems so fucking ominous. I make a joke to ease the tension. "Are you really going to spank me wearing that?"

"Don't you want this to be memorable?"

"I'm pretty sure I'll be 'remembering' it for at least two days."

"Three if you keep talking. Aren't you supposed to be at least acting contrite?"

"Fuck. Sorry. You're right, I'm just nervous."

"You've got nothing to be nervous about Duckling. I always take care of you." He pulls me down for a kiss, then begins unbuttoning my school pants, he takes them right off. When I'm over his lap he smoothes a hand over my ass, which still has the benefit of boxers.

"Now that we're here, you and I are going to have a little chat."

Wait. What?

That's when he decides to pull my boxer briefs down, so I'm all bare and fucking vulnerable. "Why did I make that rule, Dean?"

No more Duckling? "Um, respect. I'm real disre-fucking-spectful sometimes."

He's rubbing my bare ass now. "Good boy. If I'm going to be the authority figure in this relationship, which you consented to, asked for when you invited me to Sunday dinners, you will respect me and obey me as such Dean. But telling me to fuck off is something else too. Which is?" He punctuates his question with a few breathtaking swats.

"D-dismissive. It's fucking dismissive."

"Would you ever tell your father to fuck off?" More swats. And not the fun kind of swats.

"N-no, sir."

I can feel his smile from above me. "Now you're just trying to flatter me, so I'll stop lecturing you."

"No. I swear I'm not. Wouldn't dream of it." I maybe am a little. His hand fucking hurts.

"You would. But back to the matter at hand, what should we have done instead? Instead of you telling me to fuck off?"

"Talk about it."

"Right. It didn't help that I was being unreasonable at the time. For that I'm sorry. But other times will come up in this type of relationship in which you won't like what I'm saying, or a ruling I'm making. You still can't tell me to fuck off. Is that understood?"

"It's understood."

From there Michael warms my ass a bit. He's being a bit over cautious if you ask me, but I can tell you he's done a thorough job by the time he picks up his paddle. "One hundred strikes with my paddle was the agreed upon consequence."

He's being so formal. "I remember."

"All right. Let me know if you need a break, baby."

The first twenty are nothing even though I can tell he's being firm. They're good swats and ain't nothing wrong with his aim, I feel them, but my ass can take a lot. He stops every so often to rub my ass. "You okay?"

"I'm good."

When we get to forty that's when I start to squirm, the tears start at sixty and that's what we're both looking for. Spanking is a lot of things people don't think it is. People view it plainly as hitting and even abuse, but the emotional relief I get from the pain, because yes it fucking hurts, is amazing. You've got to reach the point of crying though, at least for me. There's something sent home to the brain when you access it through the body this way. A sense of relief; an established form of accountability; I won't dwell on my actions after this. I'm getting rid of how I feel. I know my actions hurt Michael; they drive him crazy at the best of times. I don't like making him feel that kind of crazy.

The last ten are hard. Especially since Michael says, "I hope this has served to make you think about how you will talk to me in future."

He puts more force behind the last ten. I'm sobbing and I need a fucking Kleenex and god am I glad that's over. He lets me cry over his lap for a moment before he takes my boxers the rest of the way off. He pulls me up to him and I curl into his chest. He runs a hand through my hair and kisses my forehead. "Go lie on the bed facedown."

I do as he asks and he takes his time rubbing aloe gel into the skin of my sore ass. "You okay, Duckling?"

"I'm good, Michael. Stop worrying."

"Fucking god that was nerve-wracking. I definitely wanted you to feel the spanking, but fuck, you should see how red your ass is."

Wow. Michael's not nearly as badass as he claims to be. That was fucking hard for him; I'm the one who got my ass whooped, but I feel bad for him having to do it. But just when I think I'm going to have to console him…

"Not that I couldn't get used to that. I mean, I'm really good at it, if I do say so myself. Not too shabby for my first time."

Or not. There's my Michael. I roll over on my side and he pushes the longer pieces of hair from my face. "Now that's done, we have some shit to figure out," he says.

"Like with Brad?"

"Yes," he says.

"After thinking about it, I think you're right, it does fall outside our norm. I can understand why you freaked out and went all 'I forbid it' on me." Daddy didn't think it did, and I don't really know what Papa thought, but they don't quite know every in and out of our relationship.

Michael and I have to make the final call on this one, and when I play it back, I think I would have fucking freaked if Michael was going to take some asshole out. Suddenly, just fucking other people doesn't seem so bad.

He nods. "I said we should keep the discussion of our other lovers to a minimum, but if you want to date someone, we do need to discuss that. That's no small thing."

"I don't want to date him. We'll go out for one night, I'll take his V-card and it will be done with. I would cancel the thing, but you and my father are so fucking persistent about me going."

"You've only ever been with me in our, what do you call it? Our functional-dysfunctional relationship. Maybe you'll like it Dean. It will be far more 'normal' I assure you."

"He wants me to be June Cleaver."

Michael laughs. "I'm going to buy you an apron and then fuck you in it."

"That's something I can get on board with. Maybe I'll just wear my pie baking apron over next time. So, what did you talk with my father about this morning."

"Our favorite subject. You."

"I know about me, but what?"

"I wasn't sure if my actions called for punishment. He assured me they did not and that he can't even say for certain I broke the rule. I simply overreacted."

In most domestic discipline relationships, there isn't a structure set up as in my family. The Head of House is in charge, end of story. When the Head of House breaks a rule, which in my experience, is rare to never (not that they don't make mistakes, it's just very rare they break an actual family rule) there is no consequence for them per se, but a good Head of House will feel awful about it. Especially when it's such a clear-cut rule. It's much the same in our family too. The rules for each house vary and the 'elders' don't interfere with that unless they were to get a complaint from the non-Head of House, or if they felt there was good reason to. Like if they expected abuse; which has never happened in our family in case you wanted to know.

That's what Daddy and Papa and even Grampa Winchester are for; to help us. Guide us. All relationships should have such a strong support system in place. They're not fucking easy.

As Papa probably actually told Michael, the HOH should be the example, but in the rare cases they're not, it deviates from their role to have their spouse spank them. They won't get the same thing out of it. It's better for the HOH to do something to reestablish his role.

My father would only punish Michael for something that was a rule broken between the two of them, for instance, skipping out on Sunday dinner. And even in that case, it's not the same kind of spanking. It's a different kind of chastisement, embarrassing almost. And it's purely senior alpha male exerting his dominance over less senior alpha and the less senior showing his respect. There's not necessarily an emotional release, really. It's purely a 'don't do that again or feel my wraith.'

I laugh my ass off at him.

He gives me a famous Michael scowl. "Is your ass not sore enough for you?"

"Sorry. I just can't believe you did that."

"Why not?" he sighs. "Don’t you get it by now? You're such a silly human."

"Get what?"

He nuzzles into me. "Never mind."

"So, you still going to fuck me?"

"Absolutely not. Your ass is too sore."

"Don't you think you should be asking me that question?"


This fucking sucks.

Michael gives me a sly smile and takes off his St. Michael pants; he leaves the shirt on (it doesn't cover much anyway). "Pass me the lube in that drawer."

Fuck, yeah. I reach my hand in blindly, but I don't feel lube first, I feel something else that I definitely recognize. I pull it out and hold it up. "You fucking kept this?" It's one of my fucking soothers.

He looks a bit embarrassed. "I forgot that was in there."

"No way. Uh-uh. I've been in this drawer a thousand fucking times and I've never come across this. This just found its way in there."

His look darkens and he rips it out of my hand. He leans across me, putting it back in the drawer, and grabs the lube himself. "Hey!"

He smiles. "You wanted to put it in your mouth didn't you?"

"Ew. No."

"Didn't you use those 'till you were six?"


"No I remember distinctly. You had a secret one you brought to bed with you and you were six."

"I was five, okay? I liked those things."

"I'm fact checking that with your daddy."

"Check all you want and on second thought, I think I have to go."

He dumps lube on my cock then starts to stroke it. "I think you'll want to stay for this."

I'm already enjoying his hand on my cock too much to leave. I was all fucking talk anyway. "Mmmm…so I have to settle for a handy, okay. That's fucking good, baby."

"No way, petal. After taking that spanking so well, you get a lot more than a lame handy," he says affronted.

"So we're really going with that nickname?"

He squeezes harder and smiles when I hiss and buck my hips toward him. "This is what's going to happen. You're going to put your arms over your head."

I do.

"Now, you're going to hold those there and if you don't, I'm going to stop what I'm doing and you really, really won't want me to stop what I'm going to do."

Then Michael does something he doesn't do often. He gets on top of me and slides his ass down my dick.

Holy fuck that felt good. "Jesus Christ Michael—you don't want to fucking prepare yourself?"

"I'm okay. Angel, remember? If I've damaged my vessel in any way, it'll heal quickly."

Kids, don't fucking try that at home, okay? "If you say so."

"I could always get off your dick, instead of getting off on your dick?"

"Fuck, no. Please."

"That's better. Remember. Don't. Fucking. Move."

Michael does give his ass a little time to adjust. Then he slowly, painfully slides his ass up and down my dick. There's no doubt he's still fucking me even though my dick is up his ass—just the way I fucking like it. It feels so fucking good and I have to grab the sheets to prevent my arms from moving. "Please, baby. Yeah. Keep doing that."

He does only pausing to lean down and suck on my neck and kiss my lips. "Say my name, whore," he says in my ear.


"Good, boy." He picks up the pace, slamming onto my cock hard and fuck, I can't even pretend to fucking have stamina when he does this. I blow my load up his ass and still don't move my arms when I'm done. He grabs both my wrists in one hand and kisses me again. "You wanna suck on my soother, baby?"

I nod, he's up and off my dick and shoving his cock in my mouth.


I stay at Michael's until nine-thirty in which he reminds me of my earlier curfew and that he should drive me home. "Nothing good can come from you and my father being friends."

"But it already has, pickle."

"Pickle? No."

"Then be a good boy and get your shoes on."

Michael loans me a pair of sweats, which are too big and don't squish my ass, so I don't have to put the tight private school pants on so soon.

When we arrive at my house, he walks me to the door and without asking, turns me around, pulls down my pants and inspects his handy work. "You know, I did a really nice job."

I spin away from him and pull my pants back up. "Yeah. You already congratulated yourself."

"Yet, you've said nothing."

"Forgive me if I don't take a picture and hang it on the fucking fridge."

He laughs. "Okay, okay. I'll see you Thursday morning. I'm coming to pick you up for school, you're coming to my house after so I can fuck your brains out."

"What's wrong with tomorrow?"

"I have to do something for Father and you should spend time with your daddy."

"Gotcha," I wink. He gives me another goodnight kiss and I head inside feeling loads better than I did last night.

"I'm home!" I screech to the eerily silent house. Our house is way too fucking big for just three people. But it is just right when the Colts invade, which is why they chose it.

"In here, noodle!"

Papa hates screeching, but Papa's not home. Daddy and I screech a lot when he's not around since it's not a house rule, just an annoyance of his we keep to a minimum when he's around. I head to the living room. "You been home long, Daddy?" I collapse on the couch next to him, careful of my tender ass.

"'Bout an hour. How did things go with Michael?"

"Great! You wanna see?"

"I'm good sweetheart. Unless you want me to rub aloe on for you?"

"No way! Besides, Michael did it twice. I'm all aloe saturated."

He laughs. "Okay. Too old. Just remember I changed your diapers for a very long time. It took you four years to reach three, in which you stubbornly refused to be potty trained."

"I remember. How can I forget with you reminding me all the time?"

Daddy smirks. "I'm glad it went well, sugar."

"What do you think about this 'date' on Friday? I know Papa says I should go, and Michael's all Team Castiel these days, but what do you really think?"

He runs a hand through my hair. "I think you and I both know where you'll be in the end, but you'd better go anyway to appease the 'upper authority,'" Daddy says in air quotes. See that's the big secret. We may be the ones following rules and being disciplined, but we run the real show, according to Daddy. "I also think you do have a bit of curiosity yourself to appease."

"Apparently, Brad's also DD. You know his parents from church. Are they?"

Daddy's face screws up confused. "I didn't think so, but I mean it's not something people necessarily announce. Still, your father and I are members of that community too, and I've never seen them. But not every DD couple is a member of our little club. Hard to say honey."

"Huh. Well I'll go, but that's it. I've made it clear to him we get one date."

Daddy looks a little worried now, but he doesn't voice whatever concerns are floating through his head.


Sitting hasn't been fun these past few days, but it's not as bad as I thought it would be. Daddy gets these kinds of spankings all the time and I never fucking know when, he's so graceful about the whole thing. I haven't seen him have to stand very often. And I'm pretty sure those times were 'playtimes' and not discipline. It's their fucking sex life; I have no need to know about my parent's sex life. I already know more than most kids need to know for several reasons, but one being the accidently walking in on them thing. Knock kids. Fucking knock.

By Friday I'm fine. And the punishment was effective. I haven't even thought about telling Michael to fuck off and I've been a whole lot more respectful. I've noticed Michael's eased up a whole lot too. He's not as tense and his OCD has reclined a very little bit. I had no fucking clue just how much I was responsible for driving him insane. I always knew I was in part a trigger for his OCD, but wow, yeah okay, I need to give the guy a fucking break. I feel like a huge dick.

When I get home from school, I see Papa's suitcase by the front door and I can't fucking help it. I get that little kid enthusiasm fluttering through my body. Daddy's told me stories of the first time Papa went away, just before I 'turned' two. I was fine the first day, but by the second, I knew he was gone-gone and not just at work gone, and the whole time I was awake was spent by the front door crying for him. Daddy had to drag me away from the door to eat, and Skype calls were both a blessing and a curse for poor Daddy, because while it soothed his crying baby for the duration of the call, it reminded said baby that his papa was gone when goodbye time came.

I do have a memory of being five, and throwing up such a big fuss over Papa leaving, I earned myself a spanking. I still told him, "I don't care if you spank me Papa. I still don't want you to leave. And I'll still miss you when you're gone." He told me when I was older that he felt so fucking bad that time. I was such a cute little brat. I don't know how the two of them could stand me.

Papa would always claim that whatever Daddy went through when he was away didn't hold a candle to when Daddy went out for one night. They still disagree over that one to this day.

I always like to play it up, just for Papa even though I'm seventeen and not five. So I run into the kitchen shouting "Papa! Papa!"

He's sitting at the table, still in his trench coat (he must have just got home) Daddy's making him tea and smiles big when he hears what I'm up to. Papa jumps up from the table to receive me. I give him a big hug. "You're home."

"Hey, kiddo. Miss me?"

"Of course. Not to mention I couldn't take Daddy's moping another day."

They both know I'm joking. "How are things with you?" he says.

"It was awful. Michael spanked me good," I say smiling.

"Looks like you lived."

"No sympathy around here I tell you."

"I hear tonight's the big date?"

"You're only just home and the two of you are already talking about me?" I sit at the table with Father.

"You're our favorite topic, Dean Bean," Daddy says.

I'm everyone's favorite topic. Apparently. "Yeah, and he's been bothering me all week. I can't wait to get this over with."

"I understand he's coming to pick you up?"


"Good. Bring him in. I want to meet the lad," Papa says.

"Not necessary. Really Papa."

"I want to meet him Dean," he says firmly.

"You've met him at church plenty."

I'm given the look from Father that says we've moved from playful to crossing a line of respect, because what I've just done is considered arguing. But I push a little anyway, hoping since he just got home he'll be a little more flexible.

"Okay, you want to 'meet' him. I thought you and Daddy'd be busy is all." And I don't want Papa to fucking meet him, so that comes out a bit snarkier than I meant it to.

"I sincerely don't appreciate your tone young man."

I blush and look at my hands. "Sorry."

He's tapping his fingers on the table deciding if we need to have a talk. He's been slightly irritated with me since the whole 'Sunday dinners' thing. Each toe I step out of line, he wonders if he's quite got his point across.

Daddy puts a mug of tea down for the three of us. "Are you nervous, Pumpkin Butter?"

Now I feel worse. Daddy gives me the benefit of the doubt as usual, when all I was really being was an ass. "No. I just don't think this is important."

"There, that's why. I knew there was a reason I was concerned," Father says. "I don't know Brad well, but I'll bet tonight is pretty important to him."

"He's excited," I admit reluctantly.

"You need to treat this with equal empathy. You agreed to it, you need to respect how he might feel if you treat him like he doesn't matter."

"But I didn't want to go. I was going to cancel the thing, but you and Michael encouraged me to keep the date."

"Nu-uh. I don't think so, Dean. You agreed to the date in the first place without Michael or I there to tell you what to do; though on that note, perhaps you should think a little longer before making such decisions; ones that end up affecting others so. You'll break the poor guy's heart cancelling. I bet all the boy's hearts are broken over not being able to date Dean Winchester."

He's trying to make me smile; it works a bit. "There might be some broken hearts around campus, but really, he's this football jock—I'm so not into football jocks, he's really good looking and knows it, super into himself; always has to get his way."

"Huh. Sam, do we know any hockey jocks like that?"

"Nuh-uh. No sir," Daddy says smiling.

"All right. I hear you loud and clear. I'll stop being a jerk. He's not that bad I guess, except he wants me to wear an apron."

"You look good in an apron, Kiddo," Father tries to joke. He tries so hard to joke. The three of us chat a bit more and Father tells us about his trip, we drink our tea until he excuses himself to shower and wash the airplane grime off of him.

When Papa's gone Daddy gets up and soundly whacks me upside the head. "Ow! What was that for?"

"You know what for, Dean Winchester."

"I didn't mean to push him."

"You did," he says, taking Papa's and my mugs away. "You know he's tired after travelling. He works hard your papa does, he wants to come home to a family who respects that hard work, not a son who can't listen to a simple request."

"All right. I'm sorry." Daddy always gives the most heart wrenching lectures. I usually feel like a heel after them.

"Well you Sur, are walking on thin ice these days. This is my last warning Dean Daniel."

Yeah you don't want to piss Papa off, but you really don't want to piss Daddy off. Because pissed off Daddy goes to Papa and Papa really doesn't like it when Daddy's upset. I swallow. "Maybe you want help in your garden tomorrow? Huh, Daddy?"

No answer. Yeah, he's not talking to me. Fuck. I hate Daddy being mad at me more than anything; it's fucking heartbreaking. "Sunday dinner? I can bake pies." I smile up at him with my most charming smile. Still nothing.

"And I'll volunteer at whatever thing you want me to volunteer at."

"Church Bake sale. Baking starts Monday."

Why do I feel fucking hustled? "Yes, Daddy."


The doorbell rings. "I'll get it!" Dean screeches across the house.

I cringe, but only a little. I'm just a bit tired from travelling, so I'm easier to annoy than usual, which isn't all that hard in the first place. Still, I've told that boy often enough not to screech in the house.

I'm showered and making my way back to the kitchen where I find my irritated husband putting together a 'snack' for his son to eat on his date.

I already figure this date doesn't know Dean as well as he should. Especially if he expects Dean to sit and watch him practice then play a scrimmage game without food. Dean will literally starve to death. Or that's what he'll tell us in a text saying: Please bring food now. And Daddy who will go running for anything Dean's asked for, will be stopped by me for about fifteen minutes, until Daddy somehow convinces me Dean is going to starve and we both have to go running with food, because now I've got to actually see him eat before I'm convinced he'll be all right.

To save everyone time and heartache, Sam sends him off places with food and tonight is clearly a 'with food' event.

"What's the matter Baby?"

He freezes. I wasn't supposed to see him upset. "Your son," he admits.

Sam only calls him 'my son' when he's pissed at him. I almost want to laugh. It's comical watching those two go at or, it's more like Sam gives Dean some kind of scolding followed by the silent treatment then Dean unwittingly gives himself his own punishment in the form of chores or volunteering. He then proceeds to be sickeningly sweet to his daddy 'till daddy forgives him.

I'm about to ask what 'my son' did, when said son walks in the door. With him is the largest seventeen-year-old I've ever seen. Is this guy for real? Not only is this kid clearly on steroids, but he looks about twenty-five. He's hot though. So hot, I feel like I need to shield my husband from him. He's got muscles in places I've never seen muscles and his hair, dear God, it's not long, but it looks soft enough I'd put him in a hair commercial. And if he wasn't already big enough to see, I could smell the kid a mile away. He's wearing at least a bottle of cologne.

Dean's blushing like crazy and I see why when I notice their hands are clasped. "Uh, Father, Daddy, you remember Brad from church?"

"I do son. Hello Brad, pleased to make your acquaintance in our home."

"Hello, sir," he says shaking my hand firmly. "I thank-you for allowing me to take Dean out this evening."

That makes Dean blush hotter. Sam turns around to shake Brad's hand too. "Good to see you again Bradley. Your mama makes the best strawberry jaw. Can we count on her making it for the church bake sale, set for the end of June?"

"For here and Texas. I saw her making enough to supply this church and the one back home."

This kid's even got a voice that's way sexier than a teenager's is supposed to be. How exactly is Dean resisting this guy?

"Perfect. That's great. She's always so good to us."

"Your pies are nothing short of spectacular Mr. Winchester," he says to Sam.

"Well you'll be pleased to know that Dean here is going to help me this year."

Volunteering then. Sam hustled him into volunteering.

"Aw, sweet thang. I didn't know you could bake," Brad says to Dean who looks highly embarrassed by the endearment. And maybe it's the sadist in me, but I'm enjoying this way too much.

"Oh, he can. In fact he looks excellent in an apron."

I can't believe my husband said that. I have to hold back my laughter. A reminder to our dear son not to fucking mess with Daddy. Dean blushes even hotter.

"And this year, we're going to add my mama's secret recipe pickled beans to the mix. He's going to help me in the garden all weekend, aren't you sugar?"

"I wouldn't be anywhere else, Daddy." Dean's voice is sickly sweet.

Volunteering and chores? He must have really pissed Sam off.

"All right, have fun boys. Dean, home by ten please."

My boy balls his fists, but says, "yes, sir." I wonder how long that will last before he flips about that curfew.

Dean's mostly grateful to get the hell out of the kitchen, but he stops off to see his daddy. "See you later, Daddy."

"Here you go, sweetheart," Sam says and hands him a bag with enough food to feed three boys. "There's lots for Brad too."

"How thoughtful, Mr. Winchester. I was going to take Dean out for food after the game, but this is great."

"Trust me, Brad. Our boy will still be hungry after the game. Have fun," Sam says.

Dean practically runs, dragging Brad behind him.

"Chores and volunteering? Sam, what did he do to piss you off?"

"Our boy is selfish! Selfish!" He throws a cloth into the sink. Wow. He's mad.

"First with the hunting thing, then Sunday night dinner, next with asking to stay home from Texas, and now with the arguing, not to mention what he said about that poor boy and this whole date fiasco. He shouldn't have made this date in the first place. Now that poor boy is going to get his heart broken. I can see how into Dean he is."

"Stay home from Texas? Arguing with me? Sam?" He's not making sense. Though I do catch the hunting and Sunday dinners thing, but I already spoke with Dean about those. It is a lot in a short time period.

"When you ask him to do something it should be 'yes Papa' not 'I'll decide if you matter enough, Papa.' And you just got home and you're tired," Sam sighs. "I'm sorry Cassy. You're right. I've coddled him all his life because he's charming and I freaking love him so much, but it doesn't help him and—"

"Baby, calm down. I'm fine. He got a little lippy, but for Dean that's cherries. I've heard him a few times when he thinks we're out of earshot."

"Oh, Lord. Don't tell me, I don't wanna know. Fudge. He's like Jensen, ain't he?" Sam's accent always comes back in full force after he's been back home and when he's freaking out. Also when he's been drinking, but he doesn't drink so often.

"Do I really want to know about Texas?" I change the subject, because Dean is like Jensen and Sam should know, when our son turns fifty and Sam's likely too old to kill him.

"No. You don't. I warned him and so far he's listened, but judging from his behavior, I don't know how long that's going to last."


"He asked me to help him ask you if he could skip out of Texas this year."

I start tapping my fingers again. I was right. I should have lectured his ear off. "Absolutely not."

"I told him you wouldn't like it. At least he hasn’t asked yet," Sam says, but it's only small solace.

"I can't believe he'd consider letting everyone down like that." Okay. I'm pissed and disappointed. He is thinking of himself, as teenagers do, but it's our job to point that out to him; get him to remember there are other people in the world aside from Dean Winchester. "He shouldn't ask. He won't like the punishment he receives."

"I'm sorry, Cas."

"Don't be sorry, Baby," I sigh.

"I'm just fudging ticked off. I'm only ranting. I love my baby boy; I'm sure he'll do the right thing," Sam says.

I love our baby boy too, and I know Dean wants to do the right thing, but he sometimes needs more guidance than Sam wants to believe. He tends to have a bit of 'our boy is perfect Mama syndrome.' Not always, just sometimes.

"Still, I think I should talk with him."

"Will you wait, Cassy? Just until he either asks you about Texas, or before we leave?"

I can never resist Sam when he's close to tears, "I'll wait Baby." But one more toe out of line and I'm tanning his ever-loving hide.

Chapter Text

I feel like a fucking douchebag.

For a few reasons. Obviously because I look like some love-sick boyfriend here to cheer on 'my man.' I'm even wearing his fucking letter jacket. He insisted I should wear it for tonight. Fine. Whatever he wants. I'm starting to feel like a fucking escort.

But that part is actually not too bad. The stands are fairly packed so I'm pretty 'lost in the crowd.' It just doesn't help I'm here alone. I've chatted with a few kids from school, but it's only led to the inevitable questions of 'where's Hannah?' and 'are you here with Brad?' Since they can see his last name on the fucking jacket. I'm usually with Hannah when I come to school events and having to admit I'm here with the captain of their football team is just so fucking rom-com. Least to me it is, because this is fucking comical, me here.

Especially since a few of them have decided to tell me they've been 'hoping we'd get together for awhile.' What the actual fuck? Is there a club? It's also led them to believe I'm one of 'their' crowd, (which I try to avoid at every possible turn, since I'm not and they're not my crowd) and they've already started inviting me to their high society bullshit.

I guess now that I'm supposedly dating Bradley Davis, I'm desirable as a friend to these jerks. Jesus Christ, I'm already feeling like his fucking trophy wife. So yeah, I do feel like a douche over that, but I more feel like a douche, a different kind of douche, because Daddy's upset with me. I just can't think straight when he is. Daddy's my real best friend. Papa is Papa and I fucking love him to death, I want him to be proud of me, I do whatever the fuck I can to please him, but we aren't pals like Daddy and I are. And that's good you know. It's been good having one parent who's relentlessly strict (even if at times it's a downer on the old social life) and one who I can have as a kind of buddy.

Not to say Daddy isn't like a freaking mother hen, 'cause he is, but our relationship is just so fucking special. I feel even worse when I open the food he's made for me and see he's made me enough to either feed the entire football team, or one Dean Winchester. Well except the stupid sandwich he made for my 'date,' the one with a note on saying: For Brad. Hands off Dean Winchester.

But what if I get hungry after all this? His sandwiches are better than any stupid place Brad will take me and Daddy knows exactly what I like. First, he makes sure we're always stocked up on this special prosciutto he gets from the Italian Deli I like in town. He uses this fresh baked baguette thing and tops it with real mozzarella, tomatoes, lettuce, grills it on the Panini machine and brushes specialty olive oil onto the bread. Then there's the Italian salsa style dipping sauce, which really makes it. It's so fucking good. Since all of the ingredients are high quality, they're Daddy approved. And of course he's got some of the vegetables I actually like (I never liked vegetables before, but growing up with Daddy such a health nut, it was find a vegetable I like, or starve) packed in the bag too, but I'll only eat those if I have room. I probably won't have room for them.

I almost can't eat the food he's made, I feel so bad, almost, but when my stomach growls I dig in and start eating. I decide to save one of the many sandwiches Daddy's made me for after wherever Brad takes me.

At least that boring fucking warm-up is over with and they're actually playing. I can't help wondering what Michael's doing right now? He's probably at Babylon. I'd so much rather be there.

At half-time, he runs across the field to the stands where I am, instead of going back to the change room to do whatever it is football guys do in there. In hockey it's usually get reamed out by Coach whether we're doing good or bad, and quit getting so many penalty minutes Winchester, or instead of Captain, your new position is stick-guy. Stick-guy. There's no such thing (least not in the minor leagues)—that's why I fucking love Coach. He's always coming up with shit like that.

"C'mere Sweetness," he says pulling of his helmet and I swear I hear everyone fucking sigh, a few girls definitely wet their panties. I blush and roll my eyes, but go to him before he has the chance to call me something else.

"Don't you have to go smash chests or something with your buddies?"

He's just tall enough and plenty strong enough to fucking pick me up from under my armpits and out of the stands (he's a lot fucking bigger than me), and spins me so I'm on the field; sets me down and kisses my fucking neck. Feeling off fucking kilter, I reach out and the only thing to grab onto is him, so now I'm holding onto his thick torso. He rests his arms on my shoulders, bending one forearm so the hand attached can brush my hair back, he adds a kiss to my forehead. "You look good in my jacket. Did you see me score that touch down for you?"

His eyes are really blue, so are Michael's but his are too.

"Um, yeah." Do you thank someone for that?

"Good." He kisses my neck again, one of my highly fucking erogenous zones and I can't help the hiss I let out, yeah my cock's hard. I'm male and I'm me.

"Okay. Time for you to be getting back to your men team captain. Won't your Coach ream you out for being out here with me?" I'm still fucking holding onto him; I feel like I'm going to fall over if I let go. Why do I feel like I'm going to fall over?

"It's just a scrim game. And besides, I usually get some extra leeway from Coach. I'm kinda his favorite."

He nuzzles his forehead into mine. "Besides, tonight is about you. If I get in trouble, it's worth it." His smile is fucking glowing and I remember what Papa said and he's fucking right: This is real fucking important to Brad. I also now see the problem with dating and why a fuck and leave policy should be the only thing Michael and I have from now on. I'm beginning to realize how real Brad's feelings for me are.

He pulls away and runs his thumb over my lower lip. "God I wanna kiss these." He doesn't though, respecting 'the rules,' but keeps me pulled close. All eyes are on us. And oh God, I'm feeling fucking butterflies. "Did you eat?"

"Yep. There's something for you too." I don't offer it to him now, knowing all too well what happens when you eat actual food in the middle of play.

"Good. Not much longer—this game's a short one."

I nod, wracking my brain for some kind of snarky comment, but there isn't one. "Okay. Time for you to go back," he says. And just as I'm wondering how the hell I'm going to get back up there, he manhandles me with ease, spinning me around to face the stands and says, "one, two, three, jump." I do, and he lifts me from the torso; it's high enough I can grab the edge and he's already got a hand under my foot, so I can climb over effortlessly. It's like we've fucking done it a million times.

The crowd cheers for their captain as he runs back to the dressing room for whatever's left of their half-time and I'm left wondering what the fuck just happened. I head back to my seat and hope the rest of the game ends faster than the first. When the game starts up again, this hot blonde, Kelsey, saddles up to me. I know who she is, but I don't have any classes with her, since I'm in all the dorky advanced ones my fathers made me take. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately for me, Kelsey is your stereotypical dumb blonde.

"Hi Dean."

"Hey Sugar, watcha doing here?" Yes we've already fucked.

"I'm here with Ryan, Brad's bestie. I didn't know you were dating Brad."

"We're not dating. It's date. Singular."

"Not what it looked like down there. You two looked pretty steamy."

We were? "Nope. You're reading from the wrong playbook. I came to watch his game and that's it."

"That's too bad. I was going to suggest a double date."

Yeah. You and everyone else have way too many fucking plans for Brad and I. "Sorry to disappoint."

She ends up making for pretty decent conversation for the rest of the boring game. I can't wait to go do whatever the fuck it is Brad wants to do then go home. When the game does finally end, we're still chatting and Brad signals he's going to shower.

I talk to Kelsey still more, deciding maybe I was too hasty to give her 'dumb blonde' status. She's not genius, but she's actually pretty cool. The things you learn when you talk to someone instead of just trying to fuck them. "You going to Miller's tomorrow night?" She says.

"Wouldn't miss it. I'll be there with Hannah."

"Okay Deanie. I think that's your man coming, and I think I see mine. I'll catch up with you again?"

"Yeah, here." I grab the phone out of her hand and pop my number in. I would consider us officially friends now, so that's not breaking any rules and I have no desire to fuck her. She kisses my cheek and leaves. Sweet. That will score me Daddy points I sorely need. He loves when I make friends.

Brad comes up into the quickly vacant stands and sits beside me. "You know Ryan's Kelsey?"

He looks a little irked, but I'm not sure. "Oh, yeah. I hit that at one of your games. See and you say I've never been to a game of yours before. She's sweet though."

He's kinda quiet and there's this awkward sort of silence where I'm wondering what the fuck happened. Something I said? "Did you see the second touch down I scored for you?"

Did I see any of the game after the second half? No. But Brad is pretty fucking good. Not only have I heard that, but I did watch him closely for some of the game, and why would he ask if he hadn't? I assume it's safe to lie. "Oh yeah, thanks."

He frowns. "I didn't score anymore touchdowns. You weren't watching."

"No, I was. I just thought it was you; guess it was someone else. All you football players look alike out there," I tease complete with Dean smile. Fuck. I'm fucked.

"What was the final score—no looking," he says as I try to fucking look at the scoreboard.

"Okay, fuck. You caught me. I wasn't paying attention."

He completely deflates and since Papa pointed it out to me earlier I see what I've done now and I feel fucking bad. I really should try harder on this date; fine, I commit myself. "Look, I'm sorry, but I can make it up to you." I pull out the sandwich Daddy made. "You see this—this is the best fucking sandwich you're ever going to eat." I set it all up for him, with a little container of sauce telling him about the finer points of the sandwich and how you should dip it for maximum sauce coverage.

"Wow! This is good." His sunny smile is back and my whole body feels relieved. He wolfs down the sandwich. "Your daddy is amazing. That was the best sandwich ever. Only downside is it being gone, I don't suppose there's another one?"

Well, fuck, yeah there is. But it's the one I saved for me. I don't want to disappoint though, 'cause I'm still feeling pretty shitty I didn't bother to watch the rest of his game. "There's another one," I say very reluctantly, but pull it out. I want to cry. I get him set up and watch painfully as he starts in on my fucking sandwich. I'm getting pretty hungry again. My stomach actually growls.

"Is that your stomach?"


"I thought you said you ate?"

"That was hours ago." I leave out that I've already eaten three sandwiches.

"Why don't you have that other half? I can't have you starving the first time I take you out. Jeez Dean, I didn't realize you ate so much."

I'm not the 'no that's okay, you go ahead,' type. I pick up the other half of the sandwich and mow down. "Easy on the sauce there sweet thang, I need some of that." He snatches the little sauce container away, smiling devilishly, and holds it outta my fucking reach.

"C'mon. I need proper bread to sauce ratio, Davis," I say trying to fucking reclaim the sauce without fucking spilling it.

"I'll give you more sauce, but you gotta c'mere." Okay, I blush all over, 'cause he's pointing to his fucking lap.

When he sees I'm not moving, he continues eating his half of the sandwich, making a show of dipping his final bite in the sauce. "Wow, so good. Bet you'd like the rest of this, huh?"

"Quit being a dick. Give it."

"You gotta c'mere Sugar." Sometimes I hate the things that turn me the fuck on. My dick fucking likes when he talks to me like that. And God dammit. I want that sauce. The sandwich is good without the sauce, but it's not the same. I climb into his lap.

"This is blackmail."

"Here," he holds it out for me and I'm immediately too distracted by the sauce to care about anything else. I move to pluck it out of his hand, but he pulls it away again. "I wanna kiss first, right here," he says pointing at the space next to his lips.

He's going to get punched pretty quick, but I comply, just wanting to finish my sandwich, afraid I'm about to starve to death. "Okay, I won't tease you no more sweets." He gives me the sauce for real this time and I finish off my half in his lap, glaring at him.

"Aw, I was just having fun," he says, pushing the bit of hair falling in my eyes back out of my face. "Don't come between Dean and food, I got it Winchester. I think you'll like where I'm taking you though."

I take my last bite. "Where?" I say with my mouth full—thankfully Daddy's not here to scold me.

He holds out his hand for the empty sauce container and puts it off to the side, then arranges me so I'm fucking straddling him. I can feel his hard cock and I'm almost full enough I've reached that point where it's hard to decide between sex and food. "There's a new little soda shoppe in town everyone keeps talking about. They've made it fifties style, they've got sundaes, milkshakes and burgers."

"Burgers and milkshakes?" I smile. "Thank God, I'm starved." Guess I am more hungry. "Someone ate the other half of my fucking sandwich."

He laughs staring up at me. "I thought maybe that was yours, that's real sweet, thanks for doing that."

Thank fuck. I did good and am pretty sure I repaired hurting his feelings for not watching his game.

"You're gorgeous, Winchester. You know that?"

Jesus Christ. I'm blushing again.

"Don't be shy, but you're real sweet when you do that too" he says.

"I'm not fucking sweet, or shy Davis."

"Yeah yah are. But I won't tell anyone—secret's safe with me, sweets." He stands up with me and I let my legs fall, so I'm standing on the fucking ground, but I'm feeling that same clumsiness I was earlier when he came to visit me at half-time. Thankfully the stands are completely empty now. I pack up my bag and containers, but Brad insists he carry it.

"I'm not an invalid. Just because you're stronger than me, doesn't mean I can't carry that."

He takes it anyway having none of my complaints. "I know you ain't an invalid. It's just the proper thing to do for one's date Dean. Can't you just let me be a gentleman?" He seems a bit irritated and I remember I wanted to make the rest of this date good, so I concede and let him carry my shit to the car. I guess it is kinda thoughtful; so long as he doesn't think I'm weak just because I'm smaller than him. I'm still fucking strong. I may not be the largest player on my hockey team, but I'm a decent size. Just because Brad's a fucking juice monkey.

We drive to the place he was talking about, it's called: The Soda Fountain and it does look kinda cool. It's pretty busy inside. Almost the whole football team and their boyfriends and girlfriends are here. There's even a jukebox and a few couples on the floor dancing. It's quite the contrast from the darkness and flashing disco lights of Babylon.

Ryan and Kelsey wave us over. They exchange a couple pleasantries, with Brad gripping my hand tight the whole time making us look very together and Kelsey smiles smugly at me. I spent quite a bit of time convincing her Brad and I weren't together, now she really doesn't believe me. "We're gonna be over there, Rye. We'll come by and say hi before we leave."

We get a table that's a little away from the team and is kinda private. He pulls out a menu, I just wait for the server. "Ain't you gonna look at the menu, sugar?"

"You said this place has burgers, right?"

He laughs. When the sever comes, I order a burger with bacon and fries and a chocolate milkshake and not wanting to be out done, he orders the same. "I don't know where you pack it all away," he says amazed.

"I have an extremely fast metabolism." I've always been a big eater, but the amount I eat now is a bit ridiculous. We think it's a side affect of the Modlenol. It may have slowed aging, but with that seemed to come better quality organs. My thyroid works pretty damn good. It's not so fast it's a health risk, but it's fast enough I seem to have to eat a lot. It's also why it's hard for me to keep a lot of muscle on. I need to eat to keep my current size. Any fucking smaller and I would have trouble keeping up in hockey. Especially since I like to play rough.

He's staring at me again like I'm the fucking world. He needs to stop, because I'm still adamant this is a one shot deal, but I don't want to ruin it for him just yet. I'll have to let him down at the end of the night.

"So when you leave for Texas this year?"

"In a couple weeks. You?"


Fuck this feels super awkward. No wonder it's always better to skip to the sex part. Since it's already like, well this, I decide to just put it all out there. "So, are your parents DD?"

"A little. It doesn't sound like they have quite the system, like you were mentioning about your family, but my daddy's in charge so to speak. Though Mama can sure get Daddy to do what she wants sometimes. It'd be the same for us. I'd make the final decisions, but I'd want all your input, gorgeous."

"We can't be just like them. You'd have to follow the Winchester way. There's no exceptions to that, or Father simply won't give his permission." I don't even know why I'm bothering to explain.

"Well, I guess I'm following the Winchester way. I mean it Dean. I'll do whatever it takes to be with you."

Okay, that's enough. "We're going to have a good time tonight, Brad. A great time even, but tonight's as far as this goes."

"You're so stubborn. Is he really that great?"

"Yes. I'm in love with him."

That stones us into silence for a bit, I reach across the table to take his hand. "But tonight I promised I'd be yours. So I'm yours tonight." I'm wearing his fucking jacket for Christ's sake.

His sunny smile comes back.

"Tell me about our children again—what are their names?"

"Well we need a Junior, so our first son is Bradley," he smiles.

"That's bullshit. What about me?"

"His middle name can be Dean."

"Fine, but our second son is Samuel after my daddy and the little girl is Grace after my father."

"Those are fine names Dean. I'm just pleased you remembered."

Aw fuck. I'm giving him hope now; I was just fucking around. A song comes on the jukebox I can't help but sing. "Oooo-oooh-ooo-oh, for the longest time…"

"Billy Joel?"

"Yeah, that's right. My parents and my uncle used to sing me all kinds of songs when I was little to put me to sleep. This was one. They'd sometimes do a quartette type thing. They're a bit insane." But I love them for it.

"You have a good singing voice. Sing me some more?"

Okay. "Now I know that happiness goes on. That's where you found me, when you put your arms around me. I haven't been there for the longest time."

That's when the server brings us our food. "You should quit your day job," she says with a wink.

I quickly stuff my mouth full of burger a bit embarrassed. It probably looks like I was serenading Brad. "She's right. You're really good. All of their singing to you must have paid off."

I don't tell him that I've been known to sing with them. His compliment makes me smile; it's a huge compliment. I always like being told I'm like them. It's important to me. We eat and the food is good—not as good as Daddy's sandwiches, but good. "So? I do good bringing you here?"

"Yeah. This place is cool."

When I'm finally full, he suggests we dance with the other kids and burn off the calories. "I can think of other ways to burn off calories," I tell him.

"Oh we'll get to that part. C'mon. It'll be fun."

I roll my eyes, but I let him drag me up with the other kids. Kelsey and Ryan are up dancing too and another couple of guys from the team; they look like they're together. All the football players are wearing their jackets proudly, with me wearing Brad's. I finally figured out they won.

Brad and I dance to the oldies playing, I recognize many of them thanks to my parents. I've got my arms around his neck and I sing some more to him hoping he'll laugh. Of course another Billy Joel (Still Rock and Roll to me) comes on and he smiles big, so yeah, I ham it up for him. Everyone knows it and the whole dance floor is singing, jumping and dancing. "You're fun Dean," Kelsey says when it's over. Her and I were almost doing a duet to the song. "You make sure he stays around Bradley."

"Yes, Ma'am," he says and pulls me to him looking down at me adoringly. It is nice to be looked at like that. I smile back at him. He kisses my forehead. He's been very careful not to kiss my lips even if it's clear he wants to.

"So, should we head out? There's one more place I want to take you before I take you home and it's getting close to your curfew."

Stupid early curfew. Brad hasn't complained about it once though, he just seems to respect it. I hope the place he's taking me is somewhere we can have sex. "Sounds good."

Of course he insists on paying. I just let him. All these stupid kids have more money than they know how to spend; I guess I do too, my parents have a bank account set up for me and I'm allowed to take pretty much as much money out of it as I want, unless it's a purchase exceeding a thousand dollars. Then I have to discuss it with them. Seriously, a grand? What am I going to buy for a grand? I try not to spend too much. And I can't remember a time my parents have ever said no to something I've asked for, most likely because I tend not to ask for material things. I think that's from my old life too, but I'm not sure. Modlenol is funny shit. My old life has gotten more and more hazy with time. Sometimes I almost don't believe some of the memories still floating around in my head. They don't seem like they're me; it's like they happened to someone else.

We do a round of goodbyes, everyone's sorry we're leaving—apparently I'm the life of the party. But soon we're climbing into Brad's giant black truck.

We drive and I try to figure out where we're going. What the? Is he taking me to park? Wow, I feel like I've stepped back in time tonight, but I guess this is how teenagers have to have sex. Not everyone has the benefit of their older partner's loft and not everyone's as brave as Dean Winchester doing it wherever the fuck he feels like it.

"Will you take the jacket off and get in the backseat for me sweets? I've been waiting all night to suck that cock 'a yours."

Giddy up! I'm down with that. Now I know what you're thinking, what about his purity ring? Isn't this this a form of sex? I tend to agree that it is and I don't know the dude or anything, but from what I've heard, I'm pretty sure Jesus would too. But you'd find it real interesting what kids feel is and isn't in violation of their 'purity vow.' I'll show you.

"Thought you had a purity ring to consider?"

"I'm not sticking my cock in you Dean, but it's okay for us to do other stuff. The other stuff's not really sex."

See? And I don't give a fuck what he thinks his vow means. Especially when his definition results in me getting my cock sucked. 'Sides, I'm still wondering if I can't get him to do more. Challenge accepted.

I hop in the back of his truck climbing over the console. He has to get out to hop in the back. The backseat of his large truck is pretty spacious, but it's still going to be awkward truck sex. He pulls me to him by the collar of my shirt and starts feasting on my neck; which he's really fucking good at—I know he's done this before. That purity ring is bullshit. I want to laugh, but I hold it in and enjoy what he's doing; also, I begin working my Dean magic. I know exactly what jocks like him like. I become a compliant little doll. "Mmmhmm," I moan. "That's good Davis."

His eyes get a bit darker than the sunny blue they've been all night. "You just wait, sweet thang." His hand reaches to my crotch to slowly unfasten my jeans as he continues to suck on my neck.

"No hickies," I tell him. Michael and I don't have a rule about hickies, but I know he hates seeing them on me as much as I hate seeing them on him.

"I won't."

There's an exciting thrill waiting for him to finally pop that last button on my jeans. I'm kinda wondering if he'll be as good at cock sucking as he is with the fucking way he seems to know just where to kiss my neck. Fuck, I'm already beginning to pant; that's unusual for me.

He continues with the slow theme as he peels my jeans down my ass and I have to awkwardly lift my ass so he can get them down my legs, he pulls his mouth from my neck, so he can look at me while he finishes de-jeaning me. "You doing okay, beautiful?"

"This ain't my first rodeo cowboy," I tease him. I don't know why he thinks he has to be all fucking sappy and sweet. I kinda want him to hurry the fuck up.

"Oh I know. That's not what I meant, you seem a bit impatient."

"Well, yeah. I'm horny."

"You're gonna have to wait. I'm going to take my time."

I don't groan, but I frown and he laughs. "Don't worry, gorgeous, I'll make it worth the wait."

He surprises me by using my white V-neck shirt to trap my arms behind my back. He lifts it over my head, and trails the shirt down my arms leaving it there. "That's so you behave, Sugar."

From there, he drives me fucking crazy, kissing and nipping every patch of skin on my body. I have these stupid over sensitive nipples, which he discovers quickly; licking and flicking them with his tongue, sucking them into his mouth. All I can do is writhe, resting back on my trapped arms as I am, completely open for this fucking torture. This better be some fucking blow job.

When his lips finally reach the waistband of my boxer briefs, I'm fucking begging him to just stick my cock in that fucking talented mouth of his. I need it at this point. My hips keen upward toward his chin. He laughs. "Would you like something Darlin'?"

"Yes. Yes. Suck my cock, dude."

He smiles. "I'll think about it."

Asshole. I don't know why, but it's real fucking exciting when his fingers reach the waistband and his fingers play there, running them back and forth, just underneath the elastic. But he doesn't pull them down just yet, he uses his mouth to bite at my leaking cock on the outside of the cotton. "You're killing me, baby. Fuck," I say. He laughs fucking evilly.

In one smooth motion he whips down my boxers and my dick is in his hot mouth. And holy shit. What he can do with that mouth and my cock. He's done this before. Purity ring my fucking ass. I'm moaning and fucking his mouth and spread my legs as much as I can with my boxers still on as his finger finds my pucker. "Oh, God. Yeah, like that Sugar. Fuck."

Then he takes his fucking mouth away and I want to cry. "Is that good sweet boy?"

It would be a lot better if you get your fucking mouth back on my cock. "Fuck yeah."

He removes my boxers and sits me up taking the shirt away from my arms and untrapping them. I'm completely naked now, he's still fully dressed. He takes a moment to stare at my body; his eyes are soft. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? You deserve to be worshipped like that. Every day. Every night. If only you'd let me, I would."

Oh my God. I think he fucking means it. His eyes actually look a little teary. "I think you're wearing too many clothes, Sugar. How about we even the playing field?" I say trying to avoid saying anything back to that. He nods.

I reach for his jeans and unbutton the top button, slow like he did to me, but then I rip the others the rest of the way open Dean style. He laughs. "You excited to see what I got in there?"

"Hell yeah!" I'm not disappointed. His cock matches his ginormous body. It's huge. Like, Ron Jeremy huge. "Fuck, dude. You should go into porn."

"You like my cock? I'll save it just for you. I mean it. I won't fuck anyone, just you."

"I do like your cock. Let's see if my big mouth can fit it, sugar."

He shakes his head. "I got a better idea. There's some lube in the console. Can you grab it?"

What? Is he going to fuck me? Sure. I fucking grab that shit quick before he changes his mind and pass it to him as he pulls his pants and boxers down to his ankles. "Come straddle me Darlin'."

I do and decide I want to see his big football chest. So I begin unbuttoning, the short-sleeved checkered shirt he's wearing and run my hands up his creamy skin. Wow. He's just so big.

Our cocks are touching, so like the cocky shit I am, I begin rubbing my cock up and down his. Brad takes some lube and with one hand, coats both our cocks in lube stroking them together. "Mmmm… yeah… that's good."

"Lift up," he says. I kneel up so can raise my ass enough to allow his lube coated fingers access to my hole. He pokes a finger at the entrance and I sink down on it. Still holding his neck, I make a good show of fucking his large finger. "Mmmm…you got another for me, sugar?" I say.

"Of course." He offers me two and I start fucking those as he strokes his dick a few times with his free hand and finally, he lets out a moan filled pleasure, like he's been saving it up.

He pushes his cock down under mine so it presses up against my taint, so fucking close to my ass it's cruel. I'm still fucking his fingers, but boy do I want that fucking huge-ass cock in me. "C'mon baby, give me your cock. I promise to make it feel so good."

"Yeah. That's it sweet thang. Tell me how much you want my cock. Beg for it. You want it in your ass?"

"Sweet baby Jesus do I. It's so big and thick. Fuck. Please, baby," I beg as I continue to fuck his fingers and feel his thick hardness underneath me. As I ride his fingers I make sure to rub up and down on it and I know I'm getting the stimulation I want from him, because he has to bite his lip to keep from crying out.

I want to hear him release that cry. I speed up my thrusts and he breathes heavier, so do I, we're both beginning to lose it. "You'll slide it in, baby and feel how tight I am. You can feel me. Don't you want that around your cock? Don't you want to pound into me 'till I can't sit tomorrow?"

His lip falls from his teeth and he's got that 'I'm fucking consumed by sex' look in this eyes. He's sex drunk. "Oh, yeah. I'd like that."

He dumps too much lube on my cock and begins stroking as I'm still fucking his fingers, and if he keeps doing that, I'm not going to last much longer. I hold onto him tight, looking into his blue eyes as I begin to get lost in sex too. We're both breathless, and making all kinds of animalistic sounds; it's fucking hot in here and we're both sweating.

I throw my head back, forgetting that I'm not even on his cock, but just two of his large fingers, I can't talk anymore; my mind's too fucked to think up anymore sexy porn talk. I just want to cum now, pent up from all that fucking foreplay. "Oh, Dean…I'm gonna…"

Feeling the first pulses of cum squirt out of that beautiful cock sets me off and I'm cumming like a fountain as he continues to stroke me and I continue to fuck his fingers. We're both loud and we sigh fucking relief when we're done blowing our loads.

That has to be the hottest 'not-sex' I've ever fucking had and now all I can think about is that giant cock pounding into me. I rest my forehead on his. "I'm so fucking in love with you, Dean," he says clearly heart broken. Our strange, hot 'not-sex' deepening whatever feelings he might have already had. Sex tends to do that. Usually for women I find, but occasionally with men. I've never heard the guy say fuck. He must be particularly hurting. I feel responsible. Turns out I'm even good at 'not-sex.'

"Can I just…Just one kiss Dean. Please. I…"

I don't know what possesses me, but with him looking at me like that, my pulse still racing after that amazing orgasm, I want to. I want to fucking kiss his pretty lips and see what it's like. I nod very small. He's quick, probably before I can change my mind, grabbing the back of my neck and pulling me down to him.

When our lips touch, something happens. An explosion. I let my lips part to allow his tongue in; my tongue tangles with his and the kiss quickly becomes wild. I suddenly can't get enough of him and what was meant to be just a small quick thing stretches on and on both of us trying to suck more of the other's breath away.

When we finally pull away from each other. I stare at him, stunned. He shakes his head. "Why do you have to be so perfect? That kiss was…Jesus."

I'm just as shocked as he looks. I didn't expect a kiss to be like that. I've never felt anything from kissing anyone, except Michael. But I like kissing him a fuck load more than I ever thought I would.

Suddenly, the life of Dean Winchester just got a fuck load more complicated.

The sun is finally setting; it's getting darker. There's just a scant bit of sun reflecting off those blue, blue eyes. Whatever compelled me to kiss him must still be at work. "My name's not Jesus, sugar, it's Dean Winchester." I lean in and kiss him some more.

Chapter Text

It's only nine-thirty, but Brad insists it's only proper he drop me off half an hour before curfew to show my father that he respects his policies. Meanwhile, I try to insist he'd rather have my mouth wrapped around his cock. "Next time, gorgeous."

I'm disappointed, but I don't argue with 'next time.' I'm starting to learn Brad means what he says. He has to carry my food bag to the door for me. We're standing there on the fucking porch and I can't believe it, but I don't want him to go, I don't want to say goodbye just yet. When the night ends, so do we. "Why don't you come in? I bet my parents are up. We can play Yahtzee or something equally family fun."

"Aw, sweet thang. That wouldn't be right for a first date. You go'on. I'll text you later."

I should tell him no, but I fucking don't. "Thanks for tonight, it was perfect Dean," he says with another chaste kiss. Yes on my fucking lips. What's the difference now?

"Thank you. I had fun." Yeah. That's all I, Dean Winchester, am able to bring myself to say. I'm fucking flabbergast and I make fun of people for saying things like flabbergast.

"Sweet dreams, sugar."

Shit. I think I'm fucking dating the Captain of the football team.

I walk inside and hope to Christ my parents are having sex. Just in case they're waiting up for me (more likely), I tiptoe past the living room toward the stairs. "Dean?" Papa says.

Fuck. "Yeah, Papa?"

"Come here, please."

It's the last thing I want to do right now, but after earlier with Daddy, there's no way I'm arguing. I slink into the living room where they're snuggled together; both of them simultaneously drop their mouths.

Do I have 'I kissed him' stamped on my forehead?"

"His letter jacket Dean?" Daddy says.

Aw fuck. He put it back on me after our 'not-sex' and I forgot to fucking give it back to him when he dropped me off and of course he didn't bother to collect it. This looks bad. This looks fucking bad. "It's not how it looks, I swear." I rip the thing off and throw it on the ground.

"Whoa sweetheart, we're not judging, it's just a big, big step." Right. Both my parents grew up in Texas where football and letter jackets mean everything in high school. They are kinda a big deal here too, but not quite the same.

"So, you had a good time?" Papa asks carefully.

I shrug in teenage. "Was okay."

And fuck. I know that look. Neither of them even knows what to fucking say. My parents who have always been prepared for just about fucking everything don't know what to say. "Look, um, I'm just going to go to bed. Garden tomorrow, right Daddy?"

"Dean, wait," Daddy says. But I've already started running for the stairs. I hear, "let me go to him, Sam" from behind me.

I make it to my room with Papa close behind. I slam face first onto my bed and bury my head in the pillow, crying. I left the door open for him, so he just walks in, I hear him put something on the chair and he sits down on the bed beside me, rubbing my back while I cry. He sighs heavily. It really affects Papa when I cry.

Papa was right all along. I do like Brad. A lot. I don't fucking want to. My feelings for Michael haven't changed, but having any amount of feelings for someone else is fucking with me.

"It's going to be okay, Dean."

"It's not Papa. Things are never going to be the same. I practically cheated on Michael, I did cheat on Michael, this isn't something spanking can fix…unless, can it?" I roll on my back so I can look at him.

He shakes his head. "Not spanking, no. But talking. You and Michael will work things out."

"It's going to be over, God I'm so stupid. It was just supposed to be a date." I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands.

"You're young Dean. Michael knows that."

We hear a knock on the door. "Do you want a Daddy hug, Dean Bean?"

I'll never be too fucking old for those. I sit up and hold my arms open to him. Daddy immediately comes to cuddle me on the bed, I snuggle into him; he runs a hand through my hair. Papa surrounds us both. No one says anything.

I don't know how much time passes, but finally I move and wipe the tear tracks away. "Tell us about the date, Dean Bean," Daddy says.

"I watched his game; he scored me a touch down."

"He did?" Daddy says.

"Yeah. Turns out there's a reason they made him Captain."

Both my parents laugh. "That kid is big. He looks like he's thirty," Papa says.

I laugh because he is fucking big, in more ways than one. "He really liked your sandwich, Daddy."

"I'm surprised you actually shared."

"Well you're about to fall over then. I gave him half of my fourth sandwich."

Neither of them can speak.

Finally Daddy says, "you like him, huh Dean Bean?"

I nod. "I think so."

"Did they win?" Papa asks.

"Yep. Then we went to this new place in town; the Soda Fountain. It's a kind of teenage fifties style hang out. We ate burgers."

"That sounds pretty perfect to me, sweetheart."

"But what about Michael?" I say.

"Don't worry about Michael for tonight," Papa says. "Tonight, you're just a regular teenage boy on your first date ever. A date who gave you his football jacket," he adds pointing to the chair where he left it.

I know exactly what Papa means by that. Of course, even my second time around, I get snagged up by an angel, before I even turn two. They were hoping I'd get more of a dose of 'regular' before I got sucked back in. "Okay, Papa."

They both kiss my head. "You look tired, sweetheart. Why don't you turn in? You and I have a long day ahead of us, I have lots I want to get done."

Oh yeah that. "Yes, Daddy."

They leave me and I get ready for bed. Once I'm back in my room, I see I've got two text messages: One from Brad and the other from Michael. Fuck my life.

Michael says: What time can I pick you up tomorrow so I can fuck away douche bag?"

Brad says: Forgot to ask you if you'd be at Miller's tomorrow, baby?"

To Michael I say: Can't. Helping Daddy in the garden.

To Brad it's: Yeah. I'll be there.

Michael's response: What did you do to piss Sam off?"

Brad says: Pick you up?"

To Michael: The usual. I was a lippy, asshole.

To Brad: I'm going with Hannah. I'll see you there.

My phone's quiet for a few minutes. Michael responds first: It's clearly been too long since I've spanked you.

LOL. Goodnight Michael, I say back.

You think I'm joking. Go to bed, Duckling. I'll stop by tomorrow to check progress. That makes me laugh some more. I bet he will.

Just when I think Brad isn't going to respond, he finally says: Guess I'll have to settle for seeing you there. Sleep tight, Darlin'."


Daddy and I started the garden together when I was little. He wanted me to 'connect with my food.' He also thinks it's a good life skill in general. I actually do enjoy it and more than that, I love spending time with him, but being a teenager takes up a lot of time. Between hockey and shooting and Michael and school and pretending to have a social life (thought lately it's been a real one) I've slacked off in my gardening duties.

"Do you want to talk about anything, sweetheart?" Daddy says.

"Talk? Forget talking. Can you just tell me what I should do?" I'm completely serious. Aren't parents supposed to tell you what to do?

"'Fraid not, Cowboy," he says adjusting my hat. I've got on the cowboy hat Uncle Dal gave me for my sixteenth birthday, a pair of jeans, and a white tank. I left out the boots though, those I'll pull out when we get to Texas. I'll stay true to my now Californian heritage and am wearing flip-flops.

"I bet Papa will tell me what to do. I'll ask him," I say cheekily.

"Ask him a question like that and you're bound to end up over his knee for a 'thinking' kind of spanking."

He's probably right. "Well I really don't know what to do, Daddy. It's driving me crazy. You know? I didn't want to go to Texas, but now I can't wait to get outta here. Can I leave tomorrow?"

"You can't run away from your problems sweet boy."

"I can't do anything I wanna do."

He chuckles. "I may not be able to tell you what to do, but you can use me as a sounding board."

"I was thinking about asking Michael if he minded me going on another date with Brad, but I'm afraid Michael will use what's left of his grace to torture him slowly before he kills him. I've got this strange curiosity Daddy. I mean there's no doubt who I'd pick if I had to chose, but it's just…" It's hard to explain.

"You like having someone all to yourself. Brad can give you what Michael can't, not to mention, he's the first person you've liked for more than an hour besides Michael?"

"Yeah. How did you?"

"'Cause I know my little boy."

"Good. So tell me what to do," I wheedle.

"Well now you've given me something to go on, I can give you my opinion, but the decision is up to you. Just when you make it, consider all parties involved and not just Dean Winchester, please."

I blush. Right. I haven't been so good at that these days. "Of course Daddy."

"If you are having these feelings and doubts Dean Bean, you have to talk to Michael. If you were willing to leave things with Brad at one date, I'd say you should just forget about the kiss and move on; I doubt it's likely to happen again. But you can't date Brad without telling Michael."

Yeah. I know he's right.

"There's Brad to think about too. I'm assuming he knows about Michael and your open style relationship?"

"He knows."

"And he's okay with it?"

Okay with it's kind of strong. "I think he'd rather have me to himself, but I made it clear what I've got going on with Michael and he seemed to still want a date."

"So long as he's clear; you don't want to lead the poor boy on."

"I won't Daddy. I'll talk to him again. Make sure he knows."

The mood lightens after that; we work hard in the garden harvesting green beans and doing other odds and ends in the garden. There's actually a lot to do to get it ready before we go away for a month. Someone will come water and tend to it, but Daddy and I are picky with how we want things left.

Some time, way after lunch, Michael stops by. I can't believe how excited I am to see him. I actually run to him like I used to when I was little. "Michael!"

He stops me with a hand to each bicep, before I run into him with my shovel. I think maybe there's tiny part of me that thinks once I tell him about last night, he's going walk out of my life forever. I want to cling to him. He does his cursory look over of me. "Wow. Cowboy. Hot." He pulls me to him for a kiss, which isn't as steamy as I'd like it to be, but I guess Daddy is right behind us. I'm lucky he's kissing me at all. "I don't like those shoes, though. You know how much I despise flip-flops."

I do. I forgot. He seems to think I always need to be prepared in case I might have to run from something (yes something) and flip-flops are not suitable running attire. "Right. Sorry. I'll go change them." I move to leave; he stops me.

"Sorry, I'll go change them? No, you're overacting Michael? Or, the next time my backyard hosts the zombie apocalypse I'll make sure I'm properly attired, Michael?"

"Well no, it's something you're concerned about. I'm respecting that."

"That's…new. But I thank you, it actually does ease the constant tension in my body, since the day I met you, quite a bit. I think I'll be able to keep you safe enough for now though. You can change them later. I can't stay. I just came to say a quick hello. Is your father here? He wanted to speak with me."


"I imagine he'll tell me when he sees me," he says cockily.

"Ha. Ha. He's in the house, probably in his office."

We walk over to where Daddy is. "Hi Michael," he says.

"Hello, sir. I hear this one's giving you trouble," he says by way of teasing me and putting my head in a noose made from his arm.

"I wrangled that cowboy in," Daddy says.

"Well if you need my help, I'm glad to be of assistance." He takes my hat; I snatch it back.

"I thought you needed to go talk to Papa?"

"On my way. Those shoes better be changed by the time I come back," he sneers. "Ah. There we are. A nose wrinkle. I knew you couldn't have done a complete turn around after one spanking."

My cheeks heat a little, because Daddy's standing right there. Yeah he knows and no I don't really care, but I'm just not used to him being quite so open. Our family's like that though and there's no avoiding it really. I've even heard Grampa threaten he was going to spank Gramma. She never blinked an eye. Might as well get used to it.

He leaves and I change my shoes. He spends a long time with Papa. At least an hour. "What do you think they're talking about now, Daddy?"

"What they always talk about."

"Me? But I haven't done anything…well that he knows about yet. Wait, Papa wouldn't—"

"That's your business to tell Michael. Papa would never."

"Right. I know. I'm just not used to them talking so often."

"You know, before you get all worked up, how about trying some patience? It might be something good."

"I'm seventeen, Daddy. We don't operate like that. It's freak out first; rationalize later. Maybe. Unless we're onto another thing to freak out about."

He laughs at me.

By the time Michael returns, I'm not as concerned, but I still want to fucking know. "Ah. Those shoes are much better. I feel confident that should a zombie apocalypse chance upon your backyard, you'll be able to run like a gazelle."

I shake my head. "Can you stop trying to be funny? You aren't funny. A simple 'thank you Dean,' would have sufficed."

"Now you know how I feel when you make sarcastic jokes at everything I say. Speaking of, I believe I have a question to ask you about soothers, Mr. Winchester."

"How is that a 'speaking of?' Soothers have nothing to do with sarcastic jokes."

"I beg to differ. Mr. Winchester, how long did Dean have those dreadful sucking devices for?"

Whatever. If Daddy weren't here, I'd comment on how much he's benefited from all the 'sucking' practice I've had.

"I think he gets the Colt family record at seven."

My cheeks heat. "Seven? Daddy! I wasn't seven."

"Well not all the time when you were seven, no. But occasionally you'd come into our bed after a nightmare and you'd ask for one. I kept one in our drawer for you."

Fuck. I think I do remember something about that; that's fucking humiliating. Michael is trying not to laugh his face off, but it's clear he's laughing on the inside with the way his eyes are bugging out of his head. "I can't believe you and Papa would let me have a soother at seven."

He gives me his 'oh really' look. "As if you don't know how much you're spoiled Dean Winchester?"

"Spoiled people don't have ten o'clock curfews."

"You don't have a ten o'clock curfew. It's actually midnight."

In other words, 'your curfew's the way it is because you got yourself into trouble and I don't feel sorry for you.'

"And besides, you didn't have it all the time since four. Just at bedtime and nightmares."

Michael's still smiling devilishly, while I'm embarrassed to hell. "Thank you Mr. Winchester. This conversation has been more than I could have hoped for."

"You're welcome, Michael," Daddy says knowing full well what he was up to the whole time; nobody can resist a game of tease the Dean. Especially not those two.

"As fun as it would be to continue this conversation, I need to go. Would it be all right if Dean walked me to my vehicle, Mr. Winchester?"

"Of course it is Michael. You don't have to be so formal with me, you know that." They actually have a pretty good relationship; it's because Daddy knows how to work with Michael and Michael feels at ease.

I walk him to the front and when we get around the corner and out of Daddy's eyesight, and thankfully, instead of talking anymore about soothers, Michael slams me up against the house and shoves his tongue down my throat then pulls away panting. "Jesus Christ Dean, you look hot as a fucking cowboy. I have a horse you can ride, you know."

"Thick? About ten inches long? Yeah I've ridden it before."

He smiles. "Too bad I have to go. I won't see you 'till tomorrow."

"No Babylon tonight?"

"No. How about you?"

"Just a party at Miller's…" I trail off when I see the way he's looking at me. The lack of tension in his body has allowed me to see when it comes back. Fuck. I guess I've kept him pretty strung up for years. No wonder he's resorted to cleaning shit. It's better than destroying shit and I've seen him do that too. "Shit. I probably should have ran that by you?"

"I think so," he says with a clenched jaw.

He's having a hard time. It's not worth it. "I don't even care about the party. Just a bunch of stupid teenagers. I don't have to go."

He rests his forehead on mine; he's clearly in pain. "You are a teenager Dean. You should go, have 'teenage' experiences; it's just…I really won't be anywhere in the vicinity if you need me. I won't even be able to have someone check in on you; make sure you're okay."

"Okay then I won't go. It's that simple."

"No. Go."

It really is fucking opposite land these days. Normally I'd be telling him to fuck off, and I'm going whether he wants me to or not and he'd be forbidding me from ever leaving my house again. "Are you sure?"

He's frozen. I've got a fucking frozen angel before me. He doesn't want to say yes, or no.

I have an idea. "How about this? Daddy does something with Father when Father has a hard time with something Daddy's going to do. They make some rules for Daddy to follow, Father feels like he has control over the situation, even if it's kinda placebo, and it makes him feel better. There should be a consequence too."

I can tell Michael is on board with that idea right away. His whole body relaxes minutely.

"I want the address. You'll text me when you arrive and every hour you're there. You'll text me when you return home. I might not be able to text you back, but you're still to text me."

"Done. Easy."

"No drinking."

Okay that's a little harder. Not that I drink a lot when I drive anyway, but it's super socially unacceptable not to have at least one. "Not even one beer?" I try.

"No." All the tension is back and he has to close his eyes and take a breath. Has he always been like this?

"Okay. No drinking, or you'll spank my ass."

"I believe I make the consequences. A spanking might be worth a beer."

Fuck he has my fucking number. I scratch the back of my head. "What then?"

"You'll be grounded 'till Texas."

Holy shit. My stomach swoops. I didn't expect that. "Fuck Michael. You sure you don't have time to fuck me?"

"That turns you on?"

"You have no idea."

"How is that possible? You hate being grounded."

"Oh I do. But you saying it like that, all big, bad and domineering—fuck."

He laughs and pulls me in for a kiss. "I have to go, but you'll behave yourself."

"Yes, sir," I say. I want him to know I'm committed. That makes him smile and his body relaxes, somewhat. He really does like that, but he's still worried.

"Come to my loft Sunday after church and you can tell me all about what teenagers do at this 'Miller's' place."

"It's a person's house."

"Potato, Potahto. I'll see you Sunday."

I guess that's when I'll be talking to him about Brad. When he leaves, I realize I didn't even get the chance to ask him about what he and Papa talked about. And no, I'm not asking Papa. Not unless I want to get scolded about minding my own business.

I rush back to help Daddy. We get a lot done before we sit down to dinner. I've pre-showered and dressed for tonight—besides it's not like Daddy would let me at his table caked with dirt. "Thanks for your help today, Dean Bean. You don't have to worry about baking pies tomorrow, but I will accept your help baking for the church bake sale."

"If you're sure Daddy."

When dinner's finished, I ask Papa, "may I please be excused, sir?" Planning on leaving pretty much right away. Of course you don't show up to a party at six-thirty, but I was planning on hanging with Hannah. We normally don't show at parties 'till eight, so really it'll just be a drop by. Like I said this party's really no big deal.

"How's studying for finals going?" Father asks.

Uh-oh. I don't like the direction of this conversation. "Really good. I know my stuff backwards and forwards, sir." Daddy's real quiet. Something happened.

"Couldn't hurt to have a few more study nights before exams," he says casually. Fuck. Tonight. He means tonight. I know it. But you remember how I keep saying I don't really want to go to this party? It's no big deal? Well suddenly it's just become a big deal. I don't know how to explain to you the interworking's of a teenage mind, but as soon as one or more of your parents says you can't do something, you suddenly want to do it on principle. Because tonight really isn't a big deal, well, except maybe that Brad's going to be there. Second thought, it's probably better I don't see him.

I should just take the brownie points it would win me if I come up with the idea to study tonight myself, but I can't even help myself. "Yes, sir. I'll hit the books hard tomorrow after church."

"Tonight, Dean. You've had plenty of nights out recently. I'd rather see your time better spent, especially before exams."

Come to think of it—he looks kind of pissed. Either way, arguing is not advised at this point. Okay. This party's just not in the cards. Michael will be happy. "Yes, sir."

Once 'Father has spoken,' he excuses himself and I'm left with an apologetic looking Daddy. "Did you have plans tonight, Dean?"

"Yeah, but it's no big deal."

"No. This is my fault. I was really upset with you last night, I was worried and well I sort of told him about your plan to ask him about Texas."

I laugh. "You ratted me out?"

"Yeah." He looks really upset, I can't even be mad at him—especially because I was the huge douche last night.

"I guess I'm not asking him," I joke. "I'm lucky that's all I got."

"You're lucky you were upset last night. It softened him some."

"No kidding."

"Why don't you go on up and start studying? I'll get you out of this."

"Really Daddy. It's not a big deal. Don't put your butt on the line for me."

"But if I don't, how you gonna show up in Brad's letter jacket and give him a big ol' kiss? I know you want to."

I can't help smiling when Daddy uses his accent like that. "I do not."

"Oh yes, you do."

"Well maybe just a little."

"That's enough for me. Go. I'll have you out in an hour."

I don't know what kind of magic stunt Daddy pulled, but he does break me out. "He says to remind you to be home by ten."

As if I could forget. "I will. Thanks Daddy."

By this time, there isn't much time for hanging out at Hannah's, but we do catch up for half an hour. When she sees the red and white letter jacket slung over the backseat of my car, she freaks. "Dude! You completely left out that he gave you his freaking letter jacket."

"Jesus Christ, Han. Not you too. He didn't give it to me. It was a loan and I'm giving it back tonight."

"Nu-uh, Winchester. Nobody 'loans' those things out." She has to pick it up and look at it and fucking smell it.

"Did you just smell his letter jacket?"

"Yeah and am I sorry I did. It reeks of fucking cologne."

I laugh my ass off at her—yet another reason I love Hannah.

I make sure to text Michael the address when we arrive and send him the emoticon of the two dudes holding hands. Why? 'Cause it always makes me laugh for some reason and it's like it's him watching over me.

There are quite a few kids here already and of course I get offered a beer, which I decline. I see Brad on a couch with a few of the guys from his team. He looks weird without his jacket. "Missing something?" I say placing his jacket over him from behind.

"Yeah. You. Get over here, sweet thang," he says standing and picking his jacket up. He pulls me in for a hug and grabs me by the neck to kiss me on the lips, which is apparently a thing now. "Dean, you know the guys." I know them from school and I recognize a few from last night. They say hi.

"Who's this Dean?"

"This is the beautiful Hannah," I say pulling away from Brad so I can tug her by the hand into the circle of beefy football men. A couple of them fawn over her, but one in particular; she might have a letter jacket of her own by the end of the night.

"So how long do I have you for?" Brad says grabbing my hand.

"About ninety minutes."

"I don't mean to say anything against your parents, but that's a really early curfew, Dean."

"My regular curfew's midnight. I pissed my father off."

"Any idea when that might end?"

"Hopefully by the end of the month if I play my cards right."

"Come for a walk with me?"

I hope 'come for a walk' means make out. You never can tell with Brad. I nod; he takes my hand and we make our way to the front lawn.

"This was for you to wear Dean. Will you please put it on, for me?"

That was almost an order. How can I resist? I put it on. "You just don't want anyone else taking up my time tonight, Sugar."

"Not trying to be subtle about it, Winchester. A letter jacket is a pretty clear marking. I already gotta compete with that older guy. Is he a college guy?"

"Not exactly."

"Well here you're mine. I want everyone to know it, so they'll stop looking at you."

He seems kinda irritated about it and his possessive ways are turning me on, so I just wink at him to ease the tension. "Well I'm only looking at you, so how about we go make out in my car for eighty-seven minutes?"

"I mean it Dean. When you come out with me, you wear this? Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it." He's fucking lucky I like him; he must notice the irritated look on my face.

"Okay, sorry about that, Darlin'. You're just so, gorgeous, I swear everyone wanted a piece of you in there."

I don't tell him they probably did. I usually come to these parties to hook up only. "You want me to suck your cock?" I whisper in his ear to distract him.

"Lord do I."


I lead him to one of the available bedrooms and don't waste time on pleasantries. I rip his jeans open and pull his white boxer briefs down just enough to pull out his huge dick, which I gotta say, kinda makes his nuts look smaller—unless that's all the steroids. I know those things legit shrink your nuts.

I swirl my tongue all the way down his cock and get my mouth full of saliva, so I can coat the shaft in it. "Fuck you're good at that."

I almost say I've had lots of practice, but somehow, I don't think he'll want to hear that, so I keep that one to myself.

I enjoy having him moan above me, he has to throw his head back against the wall and it doesn't take long to have him shooting his load against the back of my throat. Fuck I'm awesome. "You like that, baby?"

"Did I? C'mere. It's your turn."

He's not so bad himself. Only thing weird about this picture is the lack of fucking. I mean, yeah, it's still sex, but god do I want that huge dick inside of me.

We leave the bedroom all cum-drunk and he excuses himself to grab a beer. Of course he asks me if I want one, but I give him the excuse that I'm driving, which he accepts. It's a little weird being at this party and actually being at this party. Normally I'd just be scoping out the merchandise, but right now I'm trying to figure out if I should talk to someone or something. Since it's almost been an hour, I decide to shoot Michael a text: Teenage parties are fucking lame. Babylon next Saturday? P.S. Yes, I'm still alive.

That's when Anthony from the beach decides to come talk to me.

Oh right. We were supposed to hook up tonight. I look around and don't see Brad, good. I don't want Anthony to think I'm unavailable. I'm not really sure what's going on with the 'Brad thing,' (though why do all my relationships seem to be as fucking complicated as they can get?) And just in case this Brad thing isn't a thing, I want to leave Anthony as an option.

"Heya, Dean," he says. "What's all this? Do you have a boyfriend I gotta worry about now?" He's referring to the fucking letter jacket.

"Naw. Just dating someone. It's not serious." Yeah, even saying that feels wrong. Oh god I feel guilty. Shit. That's where I start having trouble properly putting moves on this guy, which is good, because Brad comes back.

Brad grabs my hand. "Hey Marcelli," he says to Anthony.

"Davis." Anthony's smirking his face off at me; looking at our clasped hands and fucking judging. "See you around Winchester."

I'm fucking Winchester now? This is bullshit. Maybe I'm not ready to commit to one dude. I'm suddenly very grateful for open relationships. "What the hell Brad?"

"I told you Dean. I can't imagine you'd dump that college guy just yet, but if we're going to see each other, I'm not going to watch you with everyone else too. I really care about you. I thought, I thought maybe you might care about me too?"

Fuck. I fucking do and I wish I didn't because that complicates the hell out of my fucking complicated life. "I do. I just; this is new. Like brand spanking new. I didn't know we were a thing. I don't know if I can be a thing with you."

"I gave you my letter jacket last night Dean."

And I fucking accepted it. Okay, so everyone thinks that's a huge deal except me. I seriously can't deal with this shit right now. I've got to talk to Michael first. "Look, I'll behave myself," I wink at him.

He smiles and kisses my lips. "What am I gonna do with you, Sugar?"

I laugh. He's got no idea what he's getting himself into. I'm about to swoop in for another kiss, 'cause fuck, I do like kissing him; it's sort of thrilling, but something across the room catches my attention. I shake my head. No. I didn't see what I thought I did. Sometimes my old life plays tricks with my mind. Modlenol is a bit fucked up. It seriously makes you forget. We only really learned just how much as I grew up. But every now and again a memory from my old life will creep in. The memories seem like dreams, or like it's something that happened to someone else. But sometimes I think I see things. Most of the time it's nothing, like I'm sure now is. For instance, I swear I just fucking saw that dude across the room shade his eyes in blackness, for a quick second, like a demon would.

Naw. Demons haven't knocked on my doorstep in a long time. Crowley fucking promised.

I watch him, without watching him. If he is a fucking demon, I can't let him know I'm onto him and if he's not, well, I don't really give a shit what he thinks I'm doing. One habit that's died real hard, or not at all really, is my fetish for salting things. I did it a lot when I was little, with no clear reason why. I mean, I told my parents it was to keep the 'bad guys' away, but I'd forgotten who the bad guys were 'till later in my new life. I keep some in Baby, but there's gotta be some in the kitchen of this place right?

"Something wrong?" Brad says.

I check the dude again, from the corner of my eye and yep, just regular Eddie. Okay, I was fucking seeing things. It's just Eddie. I know that kid. I'm fucking crazy. "Nope. Everything's good." And it is. Brad and I spend time walking around and chatting with different groups. I didn't realize just how popular Brad is. I regale them with my hilarity and wit.

"We didn't realize you were so funny, Dean."

That's because I've never been that interested in striking up a conversation with them. I'm not really now, but they're all right guys. "So you play hockey? You never wanted to try out for the football team?" The one with red hair asks.

"No offense, but never. I've been in hockey since I was a little thing and fucking loved it."

"Well you should at least come hit the weights with us in your off season. You could use a little meat on you," another one, Mark, says.

Asshole. It's not like I don't fucking try. I do work out, but I guess I have been slacking a little lately. I usually wait for dry-land training camps that start in August. Then I hit it hard. Daddy has to make me a lot of fucking food during training and hockey season. "Anytime."

I tell them a bit more about how awesome I am at hockey, Brad excuses himself to get another beer and I use that opportunity to find a washroom. I'm not stupid and find a washroom in the back of the house, where no one else will go 'cause they're too polite. There were a bunch of signs that said not to come down this way, but I've gotta leave soon and there's no way I'm waiting in the fucking washroom line-up. I'm pissing and thinking about how fucking snazzy this place is. Like, really snazzy. Of course no one's house is like our house. We are stupidly rich. Ha! I could just imagine what would happen to me if I decided to throw a party at 'Winchester Manor.' I'd definitely be grounded for life and I doubt Papa would wait for the kids to leave before he tanned my hide. 'Cause my parents would find out. I may be able to slip the odd thing past them, but I doubt I'd get away with a party.

I look out of the window, I'll bet there's a pretty awesome property out back, and my fucking blood freezes.

Yellow dust on the windowsill.

I put my dick away and walk over to check it out. I smell it. Fuck. It's Sulfur.

So it's like this. Some shit, a very little bit, I remember (though I've forgotten more than I remember) and some shit I was 're-taught' by my Uncles; Jared, Jensen and Bobby. This is one of those moments where I'm gonna have to say it's a long fucking story for another time, but let's just say shit happened and it became imperative I know a few things, but not everything. My daddies agreed I needed to know something. It's also why my parents took their twelve-year-old to a tattoo parlor, since necklaces can fall off. They got demon possession preventing tattoos too. It was pretty fucking rad.

I know I've got to fucking text Michael right away. I pull out my phone, my heart races, there are twenty fucking texts from him that I'd somehow missed. Shit.

The first one is: Stay where you are. I'm coming to get you.

The last one says: Run.

Fuck. I hear a scream followed by many screams.

I run downstairs to absolute mayhem. Immediately I start scanning the room for Hannah and Brad. I look for 'Eddie' too, now that I know I'm not imagining things. But I see the reason for all the commotion. My uncles are here and have the 'kid' surrounded. Way to be fucking subtle you two. The thought crosses my mind that I would have handled this differently, but truth is I don't really know how I would have handled it.

But however they're deciding to handle it, they look like they've got the situation under fucking control and I know it's not a good time to bother them. I need to find my friends. Everyone's running the fuck outside, but I don't know why, it's one fucking demon. My uncles can do this shit with their eyes closed; guess they don't know that though.

Soon as I step outside, Michael's jeep skids to a halt on the grass in front of me. "Get in."

"Wait. I need to find Hannah and Brad." I don't even trouble him with Baby. He's not going to like me stopping his 'rescue mission' to find my friends as is. And holy fuck, there are angels flying in everywhere, not the Michael kind with barely any grace, but the 'full-grace' kind, like Tom with wings and shit.

Michael's so not into my hesitation right now. He's fast. Like angel fucking fast, which is draining on his minimal grace and why I should really be cooperating, so he doesn't have to use it. Michael maintains a very small amount of his own grace, which supposedly can't be 'used up.' But as he earned his father's trust, he was gifted a very tiny little bit more grace from 'other angels.' You can work out how you feel about Michael accepting the grace of other angels on your own. I'm fucking okay with it. More than likely Lucifer was ending that angel and they'd no longer require their grace anyway. In any case it uses up his 'extra' grace faster to perform acts of the super human.

Next I know I'm in the jeep and in addition to being to his max with worry over me, he's fucking pissed. "Later we are going to have a chat about you fucking obeying me when I say to get the fuck in the jeep Dean."

"Spank me all you want later, but we've got to fucking find them."

"Oh I will."

He starts driving, but has to go slower now, since the hoard of kids had filled in the driveway, but if they don't move, I think he'll run them over. He doesn't like too many angels to see me. "Do you have a hood or something?"

Yeah. Under the letter jacket. I pull it up over my head. I can tell all he wants to do is drive me as far the fuck away from here as possible, but he's not, he's looking for my friends.

"What about Jen and Jared?" I don't like the idea of them being left alone with this angel hoard. A lone demon is one thing, but all these fucking angel dicks? Suddenly, I see a big stream of black smoke, rise up out of the house. The demon's gone, the angels dicks are still inside.

"They will be fine." He doesn't explain, but I believe him. Much as he hates Uncle Jen, I don't and for that reason he'd never let anything happen to either of them.

Thank fucking god Brad is a beast. He's easy to spot and he's got Hannah with him. They were looking for me. "Get in guys."

They both hop in the back and Michael doesn't waste anymore time here. Before I can ask Michael tells me, "Tom will bring your car home."

I don't ask about Brad's truck.

When we're far enough away from the chaos, Brad asks, "what was all that?"

"Nothing your puny brain need comprehend," Michael snaps.

"Michael," I say, but he doesn't give a shit about my scolding right now in his 'demons and too many fucking angels were near Dean' induced rage. He's in fucking charge and I obey him.

"Call your parents Dean. You're going to be a bit late," he barks at me.

Fuck, fine. He can explain that to his best fucking friend, my father why I'm going to miss curfew. I call Daddy and as soon as I say, 'something happened, I'll explain later, but I'm with Michael;' Daddy's freaking losing it.

"You need to talk to him," I say shoving the phone at him with Daddy still talking into it, as I begin directing him to Hannah's house. She hasn't said a word. Brad's shut up after Michael basically took his head off, and mine.

"He's with me Mr. Winchester; can't explain now. I'll have him home as soon as I can." Michael has always been respectful of house rules, such as having me home by curfew. If Daddy hears Michael's commanding voice tell him that, it may not calm him down completely, but it will let him know it's not just me trying to get out of said curfew. And if Michael says I'm all right, he'll know I am.

I was actually having a good time tonight. It fucking sucks that all this angel-demon bullshit had such inconvenient timing.

Michael won't even let me get out to walk Hannah to the door; we stay to watch her go inside. "Where do we dispose of him?"

I let Brad give him directions and realize I'm sitting right in between my not-boyfriend and guy I'm kinda, sorta dating, as they are both probably figuring out a way to end the other. When we arrive at Brad's house, Brad doesn't look mad, but he doesn't look pleased either. I can't really decipher what he's thinking. "Wait," Michael says before he can walk to his door. "The fucking jacket, Dean. Now."

Michael is not to be fucked with right now. Sort of embarrassed, I take it off and hold it out for Brad. I don't know what to say, but I feel like I should say something. "Uh, I'll see you at school."

Chapter Text

I don't know where the fuck Michael's going and I don't care. "What the fuck happened Michael?"

"Nothing that concerns you. This was a case of the wrong place at the wrong time, for you."

"I don't think so Michael. That's fucking bullshit. You think after all that I'm just going to go home to my daddies and forget this ever happened?"

"Yes, because that's exactly what you're going to do."

"What? Or you'll spank me? Fuck—" I catch myself before I say Fuck Off. The fuck off thing is different; a line I'm not willing to cross even pissed as I am. He eyes me saying to be glad I did.

"It has nothing to do with spanking, Dean. I'm fucking freaking out over here. Can't you just do one fucking thing that I say, without arguing? I'm just trying to keep you safe."

"I do the things you say. I didn't drink a thing all night."

"I'm glad for it, but this is a hell of a lot more important than not having a beer, Dean." He's breathing hard and I think it would be a good idea to just shut up. At least for now. He really is 'fucking freaking' out.

The Impala is home before us and Uncle Jensen and Jared's car is in the driveway as well. They must have seen me if they're stopping by. I'm sure both my parents are also freaking the fuck out.

As soon as I'm in the door, Daddy's there grabbing me, hugging me to him then checking every inch of me over with his hands, then hugging me to him again. He won't let go.

"Uncle Jensen and Jared told us what happened. You okay, Pumpkin?"

"Yeah, I'm fine Daddy."

"We saw the Impala and we freaked when we couldn't find you, but then we saw it was gone; we figured you were here," Uncle Jared says. "It's kinda strange your car got here before you did."

I really hope they didn't see that Tom was driving. Thankfully everyone's less concerned with my car and more concerned with me. "I'd really like to know what happened," I say.

Now I've got all five of'em looking at me, then each other, then me again.

"If we don't tell him, he'll just go looking and you really can't go looking stud. You're not ready for something like this. If we tell you, you have to promise to stay out of it." That's Uncle Jen.

I'm not stupid. I know I was a hunter before, sure, but I'm way out of practice and I barely remember anything. It's why I wanted to do the vampire thing with them. Not to mention, I intend to keep my promise this time. Especially since I know it would break Daddy's heart. Do they think I'm that much of an asshole? Not to mention both Papa and Michael will kill me. "I'll stay out of it. I promise."

Michael looks more pissed, if that's possible, but he agrees with Uncle Jensen and gives him a small nod. "It turns out, old man Miller is a collector of really ancient shit," Uncle Jensen says.

When Daddy doesn't even scold him for swearing, I know the level of torment he's in. I hug him tighter.

"Crowley believed Miller had something he wanted. He sent his best man in to retrieve it."

"But what about the excess of holy presence?" I ask.

"My father wants it too," Michael says.

"Is that what you were doing tonight?"

Michael nods. "We were on our way to a location that turned out to be false, when we realized our error and I found out the actual location was where you were, I...God Dean, I…" He's frozen again.

"You got rid of the Demon?" I look to Uncle Jen.

"Yep. Jared exorcised his ass back to hell, but no sign of the object."

Yeah. I know they're not telling me what said object is on purpose and yes I want to know, but I decide to leave it. Everybody's too fucking stirred.

"Okay, so this isn't even about me. We can all stop being crazy."

I get five different versions of 'are you kidding me,' at the same time. I'm surprised Uncle Dal hasn't caught wind of this and is here.

"Okay, okay. Jesus."

"Go'on up to your room Dean, while we discuss it." That's Papa. If it had been anyone else, I would have argued the shit outta that. I'm basically the little kid being sent away while the adults talk. But you don't argue with Papa. It's just not done. Besides, it's also a respect thing. I do trust that if Papa's making a decision, it's for a good reason. It always is.

Doesn't mean I have to like it though and it's pretty clear I don't like it, but that can't be helped.

"Yes, sir."

"Thank-you, Dean."

I get ready for bed. It's not that late, but this night has fucking exhausted me.

It takes ages, but I get a knock eventually; it's Papa. "C'mere, Kiddo. I'm sorry I had to do that to you, but they all needed to calm down and that wasn't going to happen with you there."

See? Reasons. I get off the bed and hug him. "I didn't mean to scare everyone, Papa."

He squeezes me and laughs. "I know. It's just your nature. It came with the Dean package. We understand that well enough by now."

"So what's the verdict? Am I under house arrest 'till I'm forty?"

"If your daddy had his way—he's pretty upset. You have a nerve-wracked angel to soothe, but I have been amply assured this was a case of bad timing. As much as I would like to put you in a bubble too, I think all parents want to do that with their kids, we can't do that. I think I've got everyone talked out of that plan; not sure about Michael though."

"Other parents don't have to worry about their kids attracting demons. I understand why you're worried. I don't exactly make it easy."

He laughs. "Well in any case, this event did not evolve around you, for once. It did hit too close to home. We still don't want you involved in hunting, which I am firm on young man. As I warned you after last time, your butt will not want to experience my fury if I even catch wind of you planning to go on another hunt; however, it has come time for you to learn more. You're going to need weapons, just in case, and you're going to need to know how to use them, again."

Let's not tell Papa about the back trunk in Baby where I've already got a new saw-off filled with salt rounds—special gift from Uncle Bobby. I hope to Christ my parents never find out about her secret compartment.

"But that's it, Dean. I mean it. Am I completely understood?"

"Indisputably, Papa."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. And by the way, your daddy's to teach you."

Did you see that one coming? Let's just say, both parents realized pretty early on they needed to know about hunting if they were going to raise the one Dean Winchester. So yeah, they're both all learned up on all kinds of Supernatural stuffs. They're not like Uncle Jared and Jensen, since they don't actually hunt, but they've learned what they can. "What? Aw man. He'll tie pillows around my body and make me practice on dolls. It's spider hunting all over again."

He laughs; he knows I'm fucking right. "Your uncles will pitch in too of course, but you know they can't be around much. Besides, a certain angel is probably not going to let you out of his sight for a while. Oh that's one more thing. You need to make an overnight bag, you're going to stay at his place."

"I am?" I'm fucking shocked as hell.

"Don't get used to it. It's just for tonight. It was part of the…negotiations."

Would I have loved to be a sparkle on the wall for that fucking talk.

"Thank you for being respectful and obeying my request to come upstairs. That factored into my decision on you learning weapons. I know that wasn't easy for you, I'm pleased to see a real act of maturity from you tonight, son."

Of all the people down there, my father's opinions are still the final ones. I can envision everyone giving their opinions and father saying what will and won't happen.

"There are many people who love you fiercely Dean. I'm glad to see it, and to be one of them. And if I haven't said it often enough I'm proud of the man you're growing into, even if I still have to kick your ass from time to time."

"Thank you, Father."

"Excuse me?"

I laugh. "Thank-you Papa."

"And while we're on that note, I'd like to encourage you to keep up whatever line of thinking you were under tonight. It will save us a good hour in the lecture you have coming before you leave for Texas."

Lecture? Aw fuck. Am I ever glad I didn't actually ask to skip out of Texas. "I will, sir."

"Okay, get your stuff together."

"What about Daddy? I feel bad leaving him tonight."

"I'll take care of Daddy; he'll be just fine. Promise. Michael will drop you at church tomorrow."


Michael is silent the whole ride to his loft and I sit beside him in my pajama pants and puma hoodie trying to decipher him. He's not nearly as calm as Papa was, but he's not got as much practice in trying to be calm, especially when demons decide to frequent a place I've been. I'm sure the angel thing factors in there too.

He looks terrible. I think I do need to talk to Daddy more about calming the often tense angel. I'm realizing what a poor job I've been doing. He really can't protect me if I'm constantly being uncooperative. Not that I think I need protection, but that's not the point; he does. And hell, even I know I can't protect myself against an army of angels and, or demons. Truth is, he knows he can't either, not ultimately. It's why he's freaking out.

"So what did you do to get my father to allow me to stay at your place?"

He doesn't answer a while, but his lips smile softly then, "it wasn't my idea."

"It wasn't?"

"I think it was my silence that prompted it. It was really fucking loud for a while; your daddy and his brother really know how to go at it; a Colt style argument, and your father just let them. He seemed to know when to intervene and when not to."

By 'his brother,' I know he means Uncle Jensen. Uncle Jared is a helluva lot more reasonable. My daddy is too, but not when demons get close to his baby boy. He kinda loses it.

"And even though they fought a long time, they did end up working things out and both deferred to your father at one point for a final decision; shocked the fuck outta me when he asked for my opinion—I guess I really am a Winchester now."

I laugh. "You were silent the whole time?"

"Yeah and when he asked me for my opinion I had nothing to say, but he did. Said he'd know exactly how I would feel if it were Sam and suggested the fucking sleepover. 'Negotiations' began again and before I knew it, here we are."

"Fucked up. I wish I could have seen. It's fucking hilarious to see two Colts go at it. You always think there's going to be a body at the end of it, but when they're done, it's like they're better friends."

"That's exactly what happened. Your uncles are even staying the night."

When we get to the loft, it's not our usual. He normally has his hands all over me, but right now he won't touch me. A strange need for distance, with the closeness of having me in his sights, yeah I get it. But I kinda want to fucking touch him. I'm used to it; the touching. My parents are affectionate and he always had been too. I've become a fucking affection whore. I've just got to calm him the fuck down and he'll be back to not being able to keep his hands off me. He's real fucking tense though,

"I'm okay, Michael. See? Not a scratch."

"This isn't the first time, it won't be the last…I just hate that I can't…"

He can't keep me safe.

"I failed you, Dean."

"No. You didn't. You were there." There's no real way to ensure anyone's safety.

"I need to clean something." He storms over to his cleaning cabinet and pulls out a bucket, cloths and some Pine Sol. Michael has a thing for Pine Sol. He starts filling the bucket with water and the Pine Sol then sloshes the full bucket down on the floor throwing a cloth at me. Fuck. This is going to be a long night.

For the first round we work side by side on hands and knees. I pull off my hoodie, which means I'm shirtless, he removes his black blazer and rolls up the sleeves of his white button up; we both take our socks off.

The second time, we start at opposite ends of the apartment from each other; my knees start to ache. They ache more when we finish and I wait hopefully as he scans the room; are we finished? Nope. Time for round three.

Because the problem is, his eyes think they're looking for dirt, Michael is a clean freak (as we all know), and to some extent his eyes are looking for dirt, but this is different, what's really happening are his insides searching for a feeling; they're looking for what control feels like, but they're never going to get it.

He can clean. He can make things cleaner. He can never have control over this situation.

"Again," he says.

We wash the goddamned floor for hours. Six times in fact, before I realize he's never going to stop if I don’t intervene somehow. I decide to try something I've seen Daddy do. "You got anything to eat, Michael? I'm starved."

"Shit. I forgot to feed you," he says like I'm a plant he forgot to water. I'm not offended. Michael's just like that (it's the angel in him) and I would laugh if he weren't, well, still in his angel brand OCD trance.

"I have no food. I will order you a pizza."

"Sweet, pizza." Daddy never orders pizza. He does make a kick-ass pizza though.

While he puts in the call, I put away all the cleaning equipment away—out of sight, out of mind. I also grab two beers out of the fridge (the guy doesn't keep a lot of food around, but he's always got beer) and sit at the bar style counter-top.

When he's ordered the pizza, he approaches me cautiously pushing the hair out of my eyes with just his two fingers and taking a sip of beer as he studies me. "Tell me about letter jacket guy."

"Do we have to do this now, Michael?"

"The demon-angel swaray isn't the only reason we just washed my floor six times, Dean."

I guess we should talk about it; it's far outside our norm. I still don't know where to fucking start. He does.

"You were wearing his fucking letter jacket Dean." His hand tightens around his beer and I'm glad he used up some of his extra grace tonight, so he'll be less likely to use more of his 'super-strength' than necessary, or it would be a broken beer bottle. I can see he wants to go ballistic; but he's retraining. The cleaning probably helped some, but I don't know how far that goes in cooling his temper.

But in true Dean style, I just come out with it. Rip the Band-Aid off, right? "I…I kissed him."

I spoke too soon. He does have enough extra grace to spare, the beer bottle breaks; it cuts his hand, beer mixed with blood leaks onto our six times cleaned floor. "Fuck," he says and heads over to the sink to wash off his hand. I move to help him.

"Any glass in it?"

"No. Just fucking sit over there on the couch. If I get blood on you, I'll be washing you six times," he snaps.

"All right. Jeez."

By the time Michael's done cleaning that mess (which he thankfully only does once, but he does take his fucking time) the pizza's here and fuck I don't even feel like eating it. Michael joins me on the couch.

I take it as a good sign when he pulls me to him; I was thinking he was going to drive me back to my house and tell me he never wants to see me again. "I'm sorry, Michael. Say something, please." The silence is fucking killing me.

"There's nothing to say."

"Tell me you never want to see me again, or that you forbid me from seeing him again, or in the least tell me I'm cheating scum."

"Cheating scum? Don't be ridiculous. I don't think that way, I'm an angel. It's not the way we feel betrayal. It's more about possession. I don't care who you play with, so long as you know you are to return to me."

More and more I'm beginning to doubt him not caring who I 'play' with. "You broke your beer bottle when I told you I kissed him."

"It doesn't mean I like it. I didn't see the point in that ridiculous no kissing on the lips rule of yours at first, but then I was beginning to favor it."

"Forbid me from seeing him then."

He tightens his grip on me. "As much as I want to, I've come to realize I can't do that, not when I know I can't give you what you want. I don't think you even know yourself what you want Dean, but I can see it sometimes—you want someone who calls you one and only. Do you want to marry this boy Dean?"

"Marry him? I'm seventeen for Christ's sake. Marriage is a long ways off."

"But you do want marriage someday." That's not a question.

"I can't help but want what my parents have Michael, but if you and I can't get married, we can't get married. I don't care, I just want to be with you."

"Even if it's always as is?"

I can't answer that. I want to say yes, but I'm still holding out hope he'll change his mind someday.

He's running a hand through my hair. We're quiet a long time. "I'm not going to see Brad again," I tell him.

I can feel him smile above me. "God no, don't do that. You had his letter jacket on for Christ's sake. You must be utterly gaga over the kid. Huge cock?"

"It's as monstrous as he is and he refuses to fuck me with it."

"We always want what we can't have."

"This isn't what we do though, Michael. We don't date, even you said that; I would hate it if you started dating someone. Salt and burn."

He laughs. "Never fear, my little Duck. I won't be 'dating' anyone. I don't date humans."

What does he call us I wonder? I don't ask though. "You have no problem at all with me going on another date with Brad?"

"I wouldn't say I have 'no problem,' I have lots of problems with it, but you like him even if I have no idea why. He smells like he's trying to hide the fact he's a swamp monster with all that god forsaken cologne. If you date him, I'm sure you'll get him out of your system. You're still young, I'm sure we'll have to go through a few more of these inconveniences before you realize you're not meant for them."

Is that Michael's way of saying I'm just for him? "You're really okay with this? I thought since you freaked about the jacket…"

"No markings Dean. You're not his. He can play with you all he likes, but that's it. Besides, you having a 'boyfriend' comes at an opportune time. I'm not sure how many angels saw you tonight."

"Angels always see me."

"Not those ones."

"And he's not my boyfriend. Like you said, we'll go on a few dates, I'll probably get sick of him."

"He is too. Dean and Brad, sitting in tree…K-I-S-S-I-N-G…"

I turn around and push him. "Stop it. Ass."

He laughs. "I'm not sure where this is going to place me with ol' Papa Winchester. Will I be uninvited to Sunday dinners?"

"Why would you be? Brad and I aren't serious."

"Still, it's quite a bit different than what we had."

"I'm liking what you and I have been building, and we have lots of time to do it. Besides, I think he'll let it pass. They want me to have 'teenage experiences,' and there's no way I'm breaking it off with you for Brad. I know it's bothered them for years that I've never 'dated' anyone. I've just never liked anyone enough to. You know?"

"But you like this juice head?"

"He's not just any juice head. He's Captain of the football team."

"I suppose that's an acceptable excuse for so many steroids?"

"I guess."

"Well whether Papa Winchester exiles me from Sunday dinner, or not, I know our current arrangement works much better for me. I've barely cleaned at all. Tonight was the first in days."

I nod into him feeling shitty. All this time I've caused Michael a lot of fucking anxiety, and that's not likely to change much. "It works for me too."

"Good, because I have another rule for you."

Should have seen that one coming. "Yes, Michael?"

"When neither Tom or I are around to look after you, you stay home."

That's not very often. I can do that. I nod. "Won't be a problem." I won't remind him that demons can still 'get me' in my home.

"That means you need to remember to run your plans by me."

In other words; unlike tonight.

"I can do that."

"Thank-you, Dean."

I squeeze him around his waist. "So are we going to fuck now? I feel like my balls are turning blue."

"Right," he says rolling his eyes and standing me up. "I suppose I'll be expected to provide you with extra sex. May I remind you that you're only doing this to yourself by dating a possessive, controlling virgin?"

"I like possessive and controlling, but the virgin thing has got to go."

"I bet this guy holds onto that ring awhile longer."

"You've got no faith in the Dean Winchester charm? I'll take his V-card before I get to Texas."

"Okay. Let's make this bet official. If I win, I get to turn that lovely ass of yours red, everyday for a week using whatever implements I want."

"And what if I win?"

"What do you want?" he says, clearly not worried about me winning.

That's a loaded question. There are many things I want from Michael, but I know if I ask for those things they'll be met with a flat 'no.' "No more angels driving Baby home. Ever."

"Deal," he says too easily, dragging me toward the bedroom. He sits me on the bed and pushes me back; he removes my pajama pants one pant leg at a time. When I'm just in my boxers, he takes his own shirt off; he undoes his pants and pulls out his dick, stroking it a few times. "Seal it with a kiss, baby?"

"Please." I eagerly swallow his cock, then his cum, and then he fucks me into the mattress.

It's late by the time we actually lay down to sleep. "I'm going to sleep with you tonight. I could use a little."

Michael doesn't sleep often, but he sometimes needs to. I'm more than happy for him to curl around me naked. I hook one of my legs backward around his calve and he takes his leg on top and hooks it around my other calve. Michael and I are like two interlocking pieces—like fucking Lego.

"Night, Michael."

"Goodnight, Dean."


In the morning, Michael's up and ready before I am. He's strangely business like, but he does offer me a smile; it's not the kind of smile I like on him. It's his, 'I'm about to give you a sound spanking and do you know why?' smile.

"What did I do?"

"Think hard as you hand me that belt over there. I'm sure it will come to you."

His belt? Okay, I know I fucking said I wanted him to spank me with that, but it also tells me the severity of my actions with him and I already feel that huge pit of disappointment in myself; I'm wishing I didn't do something to attract this level of his displeasure. But he's right, it does come to me in a flash, the something that could piss him off so severely with me. "I'm sorry, Michael. I should have got in the jeep when you said."

I don't expect the flare of anger as he grabs the belt from me. "I expect more from you. You of all people know angels and demons are no small matter. I'm very disappointed Dean."

That guts me. Fuck. He's more upset about that than he is about the whole Brad thing.

"Maybe it's because you still don't trust me, even after everything," he says sadley.

I want to argue that, because I do trust him, but now is not the time to speak. He's talking; I'm to listen closely.

"Maybe it's just your teenage arrogance, thinking you know better than me. I don't care which, or if it's something else entirely. When you see angels and demons, or anything super-fucking-natural and I give you an order Dean, you obey it. Not when you feel like it; that very fucking minute. Am I completely fucking clear?"

I jump a little bit. I think this is the first time I feel a scared shiver run through me at Michael's words. Not that I think he'd ever hurt me (other than a sound spanking), Michael would rather cut off all of all his limbs with a dull knife than harm me, but right now, he's not Michael my lover, friend, partner—whatever the fuck he usually is—he's Michael the angel, the archangel. He's going to be obeyed one way or another. It's a good reminder to me of who he really is. Michael plays a pretty good, slightly awkward human most of the time. Fact: He thinks he has become slightly human due to the length of time he's spent with so little grace and maybe he has. But as much as he might resemble and act as such, he isn't human.

"Y-yes, sir."

He takes several calming breaths and when he sheds his burst of anger he says, "remember what I promised would happen if you went on another hunt, behind my back?"

I can barely look at him, but I manage. "Yes."

"You're going to receive half that for this." He pulls a chair from his small kitchen table.

He doesn't have to tell me what to do. I'm Dean Winchester, I've earned enough spankings in my life to know. I'm not wearing underwear beneath my pajama pants, so I just slip them off. I place myself over the back of the chair, resting both hands on the seat.

Michael doesn't add any more pomp and circumstance, I know why I’m here being punished. And it's a funny thing I tell you; both not wanting and needing to be punished. There's always this sort of nervous feeling in my gut mixed with the weight of having disappointed the 'spanker.' That weight is different depending on the who. If it's one of my dads, or Michael, or jeez, the couple of times Grampa's spanked me—that was a whole other experience altogether. Point is, there's always this nerve-wracking anticipation, coupled with a sort of craving to please. As the spanking proceeds, I feel a warm safety and comfort (aside from the warmth I feel in my backside of course). An ass can actually take a lot. Sometimes, many times, I've been spanked and not nearly reached my pain threshold, but I’m crying because I've reached another one on an emotional level. It gets into your body, your nervous system, whether your backside burns or not.

But I am going to feel this spanking. Michael's going to make sure of it. That way my ass can remember this lesson for more than just a few hours. Oh God, and all through fucking church on those fucking hard benches.

He uses his hand to warm both cheeks amply then he begins laying down firm, accurate strokes with his strap. Today there are tears early. I can feel his pain, which might sound kind of fucked up to you since I'm the one being spanked. My cheeks do clench before each stroke as my ass gets increasingly tender and even in that there's release.

"How are you doing, Duckling?"

"I'm okay, Michael."

He nods, committed to give me what he's intended. He doesn't request I count and I don’t, that means I'm supposed to be thinking about how I'm never to disobey him on this point a-fucking-gain and how it affects him; us.

When he's done, I'm crying silent diaphragm wracking cries and he's rubbing my back. I wipe my eyes. "M-Michael, I'm s-s-sorry. I, I was an idiot."

"Well your actions were idiotic. You are not an idiot, which is why I expect more. Come here."

I practically jump into this arms. He holds me around my waist, swaying us as he rubs my sore backside. Then he grabs my chin to tilt my lips up to his and leans in for a sweet kiss, because it's not the raw, animalistic way we usually kiss—like two bolts of lightening crashing together—it's like two petals touching. Yeah. Fuck you. I said two petals touching.

"Thank-you Dean. You took that well."

I feel proud and smile.

He collapses his forehead onto mine. "Please obey me. I need to know…Can you please stop being a shithead?"

That makes me laugh. "I'm trying—it's just my nature."

"You're a fucking pain in my ass."

"Pain in your ass? I'm not going to be able to fucking sit through church and Papa's going to be giving me his 'sit still Dean Winchester or else' eyes. Speaking of, maybe you can call up your bro and let him know about this, so he'll cut me some slack."

"My bro?"

"Yeah, because the two of you have a fucking bromance going on."

"That's enough," he fake scolds me; his eyes are smiling. "All right. We need to feed you."

"There's nothing like cold pizza in the morning," I say breaking away and making my way over to the pizza box, still on the coffee table from last night, my red ass and wang hanging out for all to see.

Michael beats me to it. "You're not eating that—it sat out all night."

"It's fine. I have the stomach of a goat. Give it."

"You could get Salmonella Dean."

"You can only get Salmonella from poultry. There's all pig on that baby."

"That's not true. This is made in an establishment which handles poultry. I know all about cross-contamination."

I decide pointing out the actual food-borne illnesses you can get from what's on that pizza are not helpful to my cause and there's no way I'm going to convince him. "All right. What am I supposed to eat then? Beer? As much as I'd like that, my stomach will start eating itself during the sermon."

"We'll get you something on the way. Get dressed."

I notice he puts on the belt he's just used to spank my ass with. "Souvenir?"

"Reminder," he says with a cocky glint in his eye.

Chapter Text

I feel the sting of Michael's belt all the way to fucking church. Yeah he rubbed aloe into it, but all that does is help the skin heal. It still fucking hurts like a son of a bitch. Okay. I fucking get it. Demons and strange angels—hell any angels—show their stupid faces and I do whatever the fuck Michael says. Roger that. Besides that look of pain that was in his eyes, I can't take that.

"And as we wind down on the road…the shadows taller than our soul…there walks a lady we all know…who shines white light and wants to show…how everything still turns to gold…and if you listen very hard…the tune with come to you at last…when one is all and all is one…to be a rock and not to rooolllll…"

"Must you?"

"Stairway. This is fucking Stairway, do you even have to ask?"

"How about shut up then? I'm trying to get you to church."

"Is that going as well as your quest to get me food? 'Cause please note, Dean does not eat falafels. This thing is cardboard wrapped in cardboard."

"I can't feed you take-out burgers before I drop you off to Sam."

"Afraid he'll make you sit on the naughty step?"

"No. It just wouldn't be proper when I know he doesn't like it."

"You bought me burgers the other day and pizza last night, I promise you, he would not have liked either of those—you know it."

"Yeah, but you're going right to meet up with him. It's different."

I don't see his logic. "Well, Daddy doesn't like falafels either. They're surprisingly unhealthy, unlike everyone believes, unless you make them yourself. And these ones are definitely fried in canola oil which is one of the the top four genetically modified crops in the world."

"Fuck! That thing's GMO? Why didn’t you tell me?"

"I tried."

"Throw it away or your daddy's going to kill me."

"So I get no food before church?"

"Phone Sam. He'll bring you food."

"They've left already, Michael." Shit. I've said the wrong thing again because now he just feels like a fucking failure after he already felt like a failure over the whole demons thing.

He's quiet and gripping the steering wheel so tight I think he might rip it off.

"Take me to Farmer's Freshest, over on sixteenth, Daddy likes that place."

"It's a bit out of route."

"It's either that, or I'm eating this cardboard piece of crap—I'm literally starved."

"You're worse than a pig."

"Not denying, but if you don't get me something soon, I'll eat my hand."

"All right. How the fuck do I get to this place?"

He has to turn the Jeep around, but we go and we get some breakfast sandwiches made with farm fresh eggs and fresh bread along with some fresh squeezed OJ. "You sure you don't want any? These are fucking delicious."

"I'm good."

"Okay, but remember, I asked. I'm learning how to share."

"Weren't you supposed to learn that at three?"

"Only child."

"Is that supposed to mean something?"

"Just get me to church. Please?" I add when he glares at me.

When we pull up, he parks and takes the jeep out of gear, turning the engine off. I guess I'm getting an escort into church this morning. I can tell he doesn't want to let me go. He sits there staring at me, not saying anything, but I know I'm not 'dismissed' so to speak. I decide to say something. "Why don't you stay?"

"Can't. Have a meeting with Father, shortly."

"So? Stay for a little then use your angel stealth to slip out."

"Doesn't your boyfriend come to this church? I think it's better I don't see him so soon after last night."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Well either way, I'll skip the praising of the Lord for this morning if you don't mind."

Right. The whole his father is the Lord and all the abandonment issues that go with that thing. "Suit yourself."

"It's too soon for you to be away from me after last night, Dean." I can't believe he just fucking admitted that. I mean, it's written all over his fucking face, but I never thought he'd say it. I think I know what I have to do.

"I'll text you when I get home okay? The chances of Daddy letting me go anywhere today are at about zero and Father will side with him and guise me sticking around the house as a 'suggestion' that I should study anyway, since I got out of it last night. So that's where I'll be 'till dinner, okay?"

He nods. Then his hand is on the back of my head pulling me to him for a kiss. When we pull away he says, "how's your backside?"

"Like the depths of hell."

He arches his brow.

I laugh. "I can feel it Michael, but I'll live."

"Okay, we should get you inside." He hops out his side and is quick to get to mine. I'm already out with nothing to grab since he kept my overnight stuff at his house saying he'd bring it over later. He offers his hand and I take it.

We don't get far; I spot my parents making out by their vehicle, looks like they drove this morning. I roll my eyes. "Looks like you two really missed me," I complain. "Demons crashed my teenage gathering, or have we forgot?" Part of me is happy Daddy's okay, though.

"I was just giving your daddy a little kiss," Papa says.

I bet if I did with Michael, what he was just doing with Daddy and in front of the church I'd hear about it. Fucking hypocrites. "Aw, don't pout baby, boy. C'mere, of course I haven't forgotten and missed you all fudging night." There's the attention I wanted. I run to his waiting arms. It doesn't seem to matter how much I grow, Daddy's always bigger than me.

"Did you have a good sleepover?" he asks releasing me. Michael grabs my hand again and pulls me a respectable distance closer.

"Yep. And Michael fed me good food," I make sure to tell him to win Michael some points with him, there by earning me points with Michael.

Daddy smiles. "Thanks Michael."

"Yes, well on that note, you may want to have Dean checked for tape worms, plural. He eats a ridiculous amount of food."

"I do not have tape worms."

"You might."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Okay, you two. Enough. We'll see you later Michael?" Papa says and Michael stares at him like he's never met him before. I told him he wouldn't be exiled, but Michael didn't believe me. My parents are on this strange 'you-need-to-be-a-teenager-who-does-teenage-things' trip and they don't seem to care what hypocrisies they have to endure to make the teenage experience happen for me.

"Um. Yes, sir. I'll be there." He looks nervous though, for just a second then it's gone. I don't think he's nervous about my father, just surprised. He's nervous about something else. "I should go though. Goodbye Mr. and Mr. Winchester." Michael surprises the fuck outta me when he pulls me to him and kisses me something like how we saw Papa and Daddy kissing a second ago. Does he want my father to kill him?

"Be good my little Duck." Michael puts his hands into his pockets and saunters off without looking at my parents, leaving me with Daddy who's smiling his face off, on the inside; and Papa who doesn't look pleased.

Papa leaves it at that though, grabs me by the back of the neck and frog marches me into the church.


I know Brad is here and I was aware of just where he was sitting the whole time. I had to try not to look. Thankfully the pain in my ass kept me amply focused on something. But I totally called it. I was squirming on the bench, like every five minutes and it was a particularly long service. I got a lot of dirty looks from Father and Daddy.

"Sweet Lord, Dean. What was with you in there?" Daddy says.

"Uh, sorry. My ass hurts. Michael's fault." Daddy whacks me upside the head. "Ow."

"Clean that mouth up, Sur, before I do."

Why do I feel the need to remind him of demons? "Yes, sir."

Of course that's when Brad decides to approach us. We're still seated, everyone's pouring out of the pews. I so don't want to deal with all the Brad shit right now. I mean, the dude is owed an explanation of some kind and he and I need to talk, but not first thing in the fucking morning. Besides, I'm tired. We were up fucking late last night, then up early this morning; I'm even considering a nap once we get home.

But he's here now and I've got to deal with him, so I put on my game face. "Hey Dean," he says. "Hello Mr. and Mr. Winchester."

"Hi Bradley. Is your mama here? I'd like to talk with her a second about the bake sale."

"She's right over there Mr. Winchester."

"Thank-you Bradley. Dean, we'll meet you in the car in thirty minutes."

"Yes, Daddy."

Papa doesn't look like he was planning to go with him, he likes to stay out of bake sale planning, since Papa doesn't bake, but Daddy's dragging him away anyway. "C'mon, Cassy."

"Come for a walk with me, outside?" Brad says.


He grabs my hand like we're something. I'm trying to get a read off him; I mean, I gave him his fucking jacket back last night, got into my 'college boyfriend's' Jeep and drove off.

When we're outside, I start in right away. "Look, Brad. I'm sorry about last night."

He looks confused. "You say that like it was your fault Miller's house got ransacked."

"I didn't mean that; I meant with Michael."

His face gets a hard look to it, not so different from the way Michael's face gets when Brad's name is mentioned. "That's not your fault either. I won't say anything against him, Dean, you already know how I feel about him, but believe me I don't blame you."

"About that. My life is…complicated. I—"

"Oh no you don't. You're not giving me the 'my life is complicated, I need time to figure it out' break up speech, Dean."

"But it's all true."

"That may be, but I really like what we've started; I don't want it to end. I know I have something to offer you, please, let me show you, baby."

Yeah he's got something to offer me; his huge penis.

"I don't think it's a good idea. I can't even say either of your names around the other without you two wanting to go all alpha male and piss on me. I like you Brad, I don't feel like picking pieces of you off the pavement."

"Me? I'm four times the size of that guy. Give me a little credit," he says with his really cute smile that lights up his eyes. He's flirting. I can't fucking help flirting back.

"You are pretty strong," I say and oh good, now I'm smiling coquettishly at him. Yeah, fucking coquettish. What the fuck is wrong with me around this guy?

"C'mere." He pulls me to him by my hand and yeah, I know I just fucking left Michael not long ago. He kisses me chastely more like you should kiss someone in front of a church. "I've been wanting to do that since last night, Sugar."

"You didn't text me." I don't know why that's important.

"I figured things were hectic for you by the way Romeo charged in like that; I knew I'd see you today."

I nod. "Brad, I'm not going to stop seeing him, I don't think that's what you want. I think you want me all to yourself, buried under you letterman jacket."

"That's precisely accurate, sweets, but I know what I'm up against, I think I stand a pretty good chance at scoring a touchdown. I mean, you do like me, don't you Dean?"

Now I'm blushing hotter than my ass. I look up at him, eyes hooded. "Yeah." A lot apparently. So much I turn into a fucking school girl around him.

He smiles. "See? If you didn't like me, I'd go away; leave you alone forever, but I think if you give us a chance…well I'll leave it at that. I think you should give us a chance."

"I've gotta tell you, if Michael asked me to stop seeing you, I would in a heartbeat. He's my priority."

"Of course he is, now. I could have told you that, but I think I can change your priorities."

"I don't think you can."

"Look Dean, no relationship is set in stone, not ours and not the one you have with what's his nuts."

Like he doesn't know Michael's name. "Thought you said you and I were 'meant' for each other, huh?"

"Of course I think we are, but I'm not naïve, anything could happen. I'd at least like the opportunity to take the kick."

Okay he's really gotta stop with the football analogies, they're not even good ones; but fuck if I don't find it fucking sweet. "I just want to make sure I'm upfront. I don't want to be the asshole who led you on."

"Consider me informed."

"We'll see if you're still saying that when I drop you like a hot potato for him. He comes first Brad. Are you really okay with that?"

"I'm not 'okay' with it, but I accept it. For now. I know I'm going to change your mind. I'm going to make you fall in love with me."

"I can't wear your letterman jacket," I say by way of testing him. It was a good test. His face is the epitome of displeasure.

"Not even to say, my games?"

He really is going for the touchdown, his games are a ways away. "He was pretty clear."

"And he gets to make all the rules."


"Okay, okay. But, you know, maybe we can revisit that at some point?"

"I'll tell you what you can 'visit,' is you asking him. I'm not touching it. He was pissed about it, so if you want to duke it out with him, be my guest."

He smiles triumphantly. "I just might."

It's his funeral. "Good, luck with that."

"Okay, now that's settled, I want to take you out again."

"A second date? I've never been on a second date. Is that the one where we have sex?"

"No, Dean. I already told you, our wedding night."

Man he's a tough nut to crack. I'm going to have a fucking sore ass for a week, aren't I? Since he seems irritated, I change the subject. "So did you find anything out about last night? What happened?"

He pulls me closer, so he can wrap his arms around me. "I thought Michael would tell you since he seems to know so much. What's with that guy anyway? He part of some mafia, I don't know about?"

"Naw. He was just fucking with you. He doesn't know shit."

"Then how'd he know to pick you up?"

Fuck. How did he know? "He was just stopping by. Didn't I mention he'd be stopping by?"

He kisses me again. "Mmm, I can't resist that lip when you bite it like that. Don't do that to me outside the church Sugar."

Fuck, am I biting my lip? I hope he doesn't know that apparently means I'm lying. I've been told in my other life, I was good at lying. Thought I was good at it in this one too, but not to the ones that know me. If he buys what I'm selling or not, I don't know, but he doesn't ask anymore about Michael. I think he'd prefer to never talk about Michael.

"Did you hear anymore about last night?" I wonder out loud. I shouldn't be fucking asking that question; I didn't mean to ask it, it just came the fuck out.

Brad is uber popular; the center of the high school universe; he knows everyone. He's got to have heard something. "One of the cheerleaders, Rachel, is dating Derek Miller. I texted her last night after what happened, make sure everyone was okay. No one seems to know what happened with Eddie—he's in the hospital. Everyone was too focused on leaving to find out what the guys in the suits were doing."

I got more information from my uncles last night than he's giving me now. I should've known teenagers would be more interested in getting their own asses out of there than to figure out what's going on. I'll bet they didn't even fucking notice that the dudes and dudettes in suits didn't exactly walk there. I'd be better off talking to Mr. Miller.

"The police are handling it Sugar. No need to worry," he says rubbing my cheek.

For the record I'm not worried; I'm pensive, but this might be kind of fun hanging out with a dude that doesn't know me for once. My family, and Michael, know me too well, I can't get away with much.

"I'm sure they'll take care of it," I agree.

"About that date. I was thinking Monday at lunch."

"At school?"


"I think that's just your ploy to get me to spend lunch hour with you and no one else."

"Maybe," he pouts. "Did it work?"

"I'll eat lunch with you, but you can take me on a proper second date—don't think you're getting out of that one easily." I want more hot not-sex and chances to score.

"Yes, sir."

"Why don't you come by my house Wednesday after school; help Daddy and I with bake sale stuffs, he'll like that. Then we can go eat something." I'd better leave at least a few days buffer between the events of last night and the next time I leave the house.

"Sounds good Sugar, so long as you know I don't bake."

"Not to worry, we'll have plenty of other jobs for you." I should go, my parents are probably waiting for me by now, but he pulls me tighter to him and I want to stay just a minute longer.

"It's not how I want to court you Dean, with some college guy looming in the distance, but if this is the way it's got to be then this is the way it's got to be. I'll do whatever it takes to be with you."

I stay another minute; we 'church appropriate' kiss; I leave fucking floating.


When we get home, I'm a little disappointed to see Uncle Jensen and Uncle Jared's car gone. Daddy can tell. "They wanted to stay to see you baby boy, but they had to go. They promised they were going to try to make Texas this year."

"I know. It's okay." I understand in a weird way. There's still an intrinsic thing I 'get' about hunting, even if it's not all there anymore.

"You look tired, Dean," Papa says.

"That's because Michael made us wash his floor six fu—fudging times." Daddy gives me a disapproving look, he knows what I almost said. I leave out the part about us having sex.

"Well even God rested on the seventh day, which is what I expect you to do today Dean. We could all probably use a little nap," he looks meaningfully to Daddy. "Then I want you to hit the books, son."

Didn't I tell you that was coming? They know me, but I know them too. "Was already planning on it; both counts. If it weren't for my tender bottom, I'd have fallen asleep right there in the pew."

Papa smiles at me. "Okay. Go'on then."

I head upstairs to change and I've never been so grateful as I am in this very moment for pajama pants; I shed the tight 'church pants' quickly and get comfy. It'll be nice to have a day at home after all that excitement. I remember to text Michael I'm home, then soon as I hit my head to the my pillow, Dean's…out.


After a two hour nap, I check on my son. He's still out cold. I want to go in and sit in his desk chair and watch over him like I did when he was little and sick, or…or just because sometimes I needed to. But he's seventeen and I shouldn't. Dean will let me; he indulges when I baby him, because he knows how much I like taking care of him, but he's growing into a man; he doesn't need his daddy watching over him all the time like that. I close the door and head downstairs; my phone vibrates in my pocket.

It's Michael.

"Hello?" I say.

There's a short groan, then a slurred Sam. Michael rarely calls me Sam. He has from time to time, but it always means something. Right now, I think it simply means he can't even say 'Winchester.'

"Michael? What's going on?"

"C-come…pleassse…my loft."

"I'll be right there." Cas, who had lain down with me (and yes we actually slept) must've got up before me. I check the kitchen first, he's there with coffee and the newspaper. "Baby? What's wrong?'

"Michael, he's…he needs help, asked me to come." I can tell right away Cas doesn't like the idea. "Cas, you know he wouldn't have called if it meant trouble for me. And he wouldn't have called me unless it was something he knew was up my alley—I'm suspecting he had another run in with his father's angel blade." I've often taken care of Michael over the years, but this is the first time I've gotten a call quite like this.

He sighs heavily.

"You know how much he's done for our son—"

"Spare me the guilt trip; you can go, Baby. But phone me soon as you get there."

"Thanks, Cas."

"What should I tell Dean?"



When I get there, Tom (who I've met before; he drops off Dean's Impala often enough) let's me in. "He says go straight into his bedroom, sir."

'Bedroom' is a pretty loose term if you ask me. It looks like there's an altar just off from the kitchen, enclosed by walls with what looks like a sliding door. Tom slides it open for me and I go inside; I'm met with a terrible sight.

Michael looks like he's been ripped to shreds. His body anyway; his father seldom touches his face. He's mostly naked, he's somehow managed to get his jacket and shirt off (which are on the floor and bloodied), but it looks like he couldn't manage his pants all the way. He's bleeding all over his sheets.

I don't know where the slice marks end and Michael begins there are so many; he's sprawled out on his back and not moving. "Michael?"

"H-hello, Misser Winchesser. Fuck. Winchester," he manages.

I can completely understand why he doesn't want Dean to know; because looking at Michael, I want to kill Lucifer. I can only imagine what Dean would want to do to Lucifer; and he'd be relentless, we wouldn't be able to stop him; he'd end up dead.

Michael's become one of my own. Whatever ends up happening between Dean and him, he always will be. I feel like I've known Michael since he was a little boy. I've looked after him; he's looked after my son; he's a Colt and a Winchester. He's a son to me, in some messed up way, since technically he's the one who's older than me, and an angel. "What happened?"

"He w-was…pissed we didn’t…get the object. It was either thissss…or the Texas trip."

"Dean doesn't even know about Texas. You should have just cancelled Texas. What were you thinking?"

He doesn't answer that. "I…need your…help."

"You need a hospital. I can't help this Michael. How much blood can your vessel lose?"

"N-n-no, hospitals. A lot. My grace is…already replenishing. I feel much b-better than I did an hour ago."

"You've been lying here in agony, all by yourself?"


"Foolish, foolish, angel."

"I need…I need you to help me c-clean up. Tend to my vessel like before. Get me ready for, dinner."

"Dinner? As in tonight? I don't think so Michael, this is nothing like before. You're not going anywhere."

"No. Please. I have to."

"Cas won't mind if you miss dinner for this, Michael. This goes under the category of acceptable excuses."

"You don't understand…I have to be there. See? Getting better already…I can already talk again."

Sure he's not slurring as much, but his words are labored and don't have the usual Michael punch. "You don't need to be there."

He sighs like I'm the most moronic being he's ever had the inconvenience of dealing with. "Dean."

"Tell him your father needs you tonight. He'll understand."

"I like to keep that to a minimum and I probably will have to miss at some point for that. I already fail him in so many ways…this is important to him…it's all I can give him."

"And you do."

"It's too soon…and the timing is…he'll think it's because of what happened between him and that oversized meathead."

"So what if he does? You two have been through worse, he'll be upset tonight, you'll explain it to him in a couple days."

"I'm losing him."

I think, yeah, there's a tear in his eye, he doesn't even try to wipe it away, I doubt he can move his arms yet. "You should catch it Mr. Winchester. It's said an angel's tears are supposed to have special powers."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. No one does. No angel's ever cried before, 'till me."

"Then how can anyone know they do anything?"

"God told me."

Oh. That's how then. I don't gather them, how could I when he looks utterly obliterated? "You know how to keep him Michael."

He scoffs as best he can. "After all this time, you don't think I'd commit to Dean in a heartbeat? You think I like watching anyone lay their hands on him? You think I like that it hurts him when I fuck others? You think I don't want to rip Brad to shreds because he is so fucking perfect for Dean? Even if he does need some sort of help to get him off the steroids he's using."

I've always suspected it was something, and I shouldn't have said that so accusingly, but it's hard to watch Dean get hurt and not get just a little upset. "I do Michael, but you've never told me why. Tell me why."

"You're going to wish you didn't know. Are you sure you don't want to continue to live in ignorance?"

"I'd rather know that every time my boy comes home in tears over you, it's for a good reason."

"Just remember; you asked."

"I will."

"Remember when my father came to your 'Colt barbeque?'"

"I remember the one." If I had known Michael's father was a fudging evil archangel, believe me, I would not have invited him.

"He noticed the chemistry between Dean and I immediately. That we share a profound bond."


"Whatever you humans want to call it. He noted it, but by then there was nothing I could do. Thankfully for you Winchesters, you were exactly what my father was looking for in terms of 'wholesome family fun.' He approved of my interactions with your family."

Michael's father had this bizarre idea that if he grew up as a child, affected by Modlenol, he would 'see' Lucifer as his true father. But even with the Modlenol Lucifer used on Michael (one Michael says he's sure had been tweaked in some way, so it would work on an angel at all, an angel brand Modlenol), it never affected his psyche quite like Dean's had been. Michael was often 'adult-like,' with elements of childlike behaviors, and as he reluctantly admitted to me over our 'tea conversations,' some thoughts and emotions as well.

It had taken several bouts with Modlenol over the millennia, but Dean and I suspect it did work in the end. Michael sees Lucifer as his father—that's pretty clear.

"But while he said I could keep my human pet (his words) knowing I wouldn’t be able to help the bond that would continue to develop, change and grow over time, there would be boundaries that I must abide. I'm not permitted to devote myself to him romantically, like in marriage for instance, which is why I originally tried not to at all, but we all know how well that worked out with your son as stubborn as he is."

Not to mention the deep seeded need Michael has for said son. I let him have his denial.

"I may play with him, but I'm to understand that angels don't devote themselves to humans that way; romantically. I can't take him on a real date. I was even worried about the Sunday dinners thing at first, but Tom pointed out I'm at your house often enough for dinner anyway. It's all I can give him Mr. Winchester. He'll never give permission for me to marry Dean, or for him to live with me. If he finds out that I have, I get two choices: I may kill Dean myself and give him a quick death, or he'll have one of his angels do it for me, but he'll make sure it lasts a long, long time. So that's why I'll always have to have other lovers. I've got to make it real, it's got to be believable…"

I can't help but take a step backward. My heart is beating so hard, it feels like it's going to explode

"I know I shouldn't have involved myself with Dean. But I knew how much it was hurting him to keep telling him no. And well, I gave in and I'm sorry for it, and it's too late. I know you'll hate me now, I-I don’t like many humans, but I very much like you."

Poor Michael; he's rambling, and I am angry, but not at Michael. Sounds like we were all screwed in this department since the moment they set eyes on each other when Dean was a year and a half old. We're in a situation, yeah a difficult one, but we're a family and we'll figure something out together.

I have a thought. "What about now? Who's watching now?"

He knows what I mean. "Well there's Tom; we don't have to worry about Tom. But from time to time there are others—those are the ones I have to be careful of. We don't have to worry about them right now."

I nod.

"If my father knew that I'd gone after Dean instead of helping the others, well let's just say it's some of the reason I could barely talk last night. But I've got some help on the inside now; my older brother Gabriel for one and a few others. We were able to place me where I wasn't. And thankfully father didn't call his angel mafia massacre 'till this morning or I would have had to leave Dean, which would have been near impossible. Then he would have found out, may have even shot me up with Modlenol again."


"Oh yes. Believe it, or not, I'm thought of as father's spoiled child. He killed most of the others who were sent last night, only a few of us were left alive. Barely."

"Jesus H. Michael. You've barely got any skin left." I guess he's a form of alive.

"It can all be covered up with clothes. So use your witchcraft hocus pocus you learned from that Shaggy fellow, I think we can have me mobile by dinner."

I shake my head. "You need a miracle Michael and since your miracle juice is tapped out there's just no way I can fix this. I don't suppose Tom could?" I put two fingers to my forehead.

"No. He's not permitted. He was going to do it anyway, but I need him. I won't allow him either. So will you help me?"

He looks so desperate; I can't say no to him. "I'll help you as best I can, but I've got to call Cas. I have to tell him what's going on and that I made it here."

"But you won't tell Dean? Please, he'll—"

"Flip out? Go after Lucifer? Get himself killed? Yeah, I know. I don't plan on telling him Michael." Hell, if I didn't know it would get Dean killed, I'd let him. I'd help him.

I walk out of his 'bedroom' to collect myself, figure out just what the heck I'm going to do and call Cas. Tom's there. "So, can you fix him sir?"

"No…I don't know. Just, can you go run him a bath? I'm going to need your help getting him in it too." That's going to suck.

"Right away, sir."

I call Cas and give him a quick summary of events. "Where's Dean?"

I can practically hear him smiling, amused, through the phone. "Upstairs, pissed at me. I went up shortly after you left, he was just waking, I told him to crack his books and that I'd come back and tell him when he's finished."

Poor, Dean; exiled to his room. But I can't help laughing a little. "Just make sure you bring him food."

"Already on it, Baby. Take as long as you need."

"Okay, Cassy. Love you."

"Love you too."

I make one more call, 'cause I'm going to need help, then I begin the arduous task of stopping the rest of Michael's bleeding as well as bathing the irritated, snippety, angel, who's in a ton of pain.


"Do you have to scrub so bloody hard?"

If he wasn't already in so much pain, I'd whack him upside the head. "I'm going as gentle as I can, Michael."

"Sorry. It's," he sighs. "You're not going to be able to fix me, are you?"

When he looks at me like that, I see the 'little boy Michael' I've seen on rare occasion in the past and I suddenly get a burst of determination. "I don't know Michael, but I'm going to do my damnedest."

"Such language, Mr. Winchester." He gives me a weak smile.

"You should hear how many times I've sworn in my head already."

"Careful, or I might actually think you care about me."

"I do care about you Michael."

"For Dean's sake I suppose."

Is he, pouting? I smile. "Like a son Michael. It's got nothing to do with Dean."

Thankfully, that shocks him into silence, which is good. Love him I do, but I can't take another minute of his complaining. Tom stands away from us, but he can hear our whole exchange. I asked him to stay in case I needed him. Getting Michael into the tub was no small feat. Tom offered to fix my eardrums assuming they were broken after Michael screamed in them over and over.

Those times weren't his fault. He tried to remain stoic, but it was near impossible. The slices go all around his back and down his legs; there's not a spot on him without devastation; his father was particularly cruel this time.

I'm trying to get the blood off, while being careful of the torn skin; I'm working on cleaning up the long slices, but it's more than that. I'm caring for him. I do everything lovingly. I even wash his hair and claim there might be blood in it. He doesn't believe me, but lets me.

Then Tom and I have to get him out. He braces himself and Tom insists he takes 'the screaming part' of him and we get him back to his bed, and scream he does and writhe in utter agony.

I begin dressing his wounds, which look marginally better now that he's clean, but there are places where the skin is peeling off of him. It's hard to keep a handle on my anger at his 'father.'

After his wounds are dressed, he still looks awful. His vessel has to heal and all his limited grace automatically works toward that end, but he's got marginally more energy now, more than a human would in such a state. A human wouldn't have survived this.

There's a knock at the door, Tom lets Dr. Shaggy in.

Dr. Shaggy's come to know Michael. He's not stupid, we know he suspects Michael's something else, but he's never asked. He's loyal to us, we know that; he's good people.

His eyes bug out of his head when he sees Michael.

"I know. He needs a hospital, but we can't go there. Just treat him like you would a stab victim. We need him up an mobile by five-thirty."

"Whoa! Sam, dude, this is way outta my league."

I sigh. "I know that too, but please, you're all we've got."

He nods. I know he'll do his best.

I step out again while Dr. Shaggy works on him. I make another call.


"Uncle Bobby!" It's good to hear his voice. I've taken to calling him Uncle Bobby sometimes, since that's how I always refer to him for Dean. It's kinda habit now.

"What did Dean do this time?"

I laugh. "It's not Dean this time, Bobby." I explain the angel's julienne I've got in the room next to me. "Any ideas?"

"I think you're right—best bet is to get your witch-doctor to heal his vessel some, that'll help, but it would be better if we could give his grace a boost."

"I've thought about that Bobby, any idea how?"

"I usually research how to kill angels, not how to save'em, Sam."

Michael's never come to me in this state, he's never asked me to help heal him. Sure he's had the long white scars many times, which left him tired and cranky, but never completely obliterated. I'd never had cause to call Bobby on his behalf even if I did often wonder if there was something I could do. It always seemed too late. I doubt there's anything we can do now except 'tend to his vessel' as usual.

"I can look through some books for you," he offers.

"That'd be great Bobby." I hear Michael's voice, loud (he must already be healing some) with some of his angry flare. He's not liking what the doctor's doing. "Um, Bobby, call me if you find anything. Gotta go."

"Keep your evil witchcraft away from me, witch! Sam. Sam! He's trying to kill me. Remove this sorcerer."

I roll my eyes; what theatrics. "I was under the impression you'd try anything?"

"Not something I know will kill me."

I look to Dr. Shaggy for an explanation. He doesn't look offended at being called a witch in the least, I think he thinks Michael's funny. "As you know Sam-man, I do a lot of energy work with stones and rocks. I can feel an energy coming from him; something's trying to heal him from inside, a very powerful energy."

I'm impressed. Dr. Shaggy might not know what it's called, but he can sense Michael's grace.

"It, the energy, is unlike anything I've ever felt. It's intense man, like a higher power, like a holy power. It feels…good. My Moldevite stone called to me on this one. It's an ancient stone used for spiritual healing with a totally intense frequency and high vibration. I just thought I'd try it—it might not do anything."

I give Michael my fed up look. I don't think he knowsit will kill him; I think he's overreacting. "Will you just let him do it?"

"Do I have much choice?"


I nod for Dr. Shaggy to proceed as Michael mumbles "I've only ever seen him use herbs, not strange magic medallions."

Dr. Shaggy draws the rock over Michael, seeming to be following a pattern, a couple passes over. "Huh. Strange."

"Strange?" I say.

"Normally, I'd totally follow the meridians the Chinese use in Traditional Chinese Medicine, or Reflexology, like I was just doing."


"But the energy, the one inside him seems to want me to flow a different path. I think I should trace that path."

I agree. "Do, it."

"Hey, don't I get a say?"

"No," Tom and I say at the same time—apparently Tom cares too.

Michael shuts up.

Dr. Shaggy goes to work again, presumably tracing a new 'path.' I wouldn't know the difference.

"Does that do anything?" he asks Michael.

"I…bloody hell, I think so."

"What do you feel?"

"It's like everything's being massaged. It's soothing, like it's supposed to be." I take the 'it' to mean how his grace is supposed to work. "I think I feel a little stronger."

Dr. Shaggy works on him for an hour and after awhile, I can see the path he's tracing, over and over. Finally he puts the black rock down close to Michael. "There. I think the Moldevite will continue to assist that thick, full energy inside of him if he keeps it beside him, even if the meridians aren't being traced. Tracing the meridians just enhances the effect of the stone, but I think I've gotten him to decent point for accelerated healing. His body's gotta do the rest now."

I notice the doctor's talking to me, like I'm his guardian. I don't think Dr. Shaggy knows exactly what I am to Michael. It's kind of funny when you think about it, but if Michael notices, he doesn't say anything. Michael looks a lot younger than both Dr. Shaggy and I.

"I'll leave him some herbs he can drink as a tea for pain and I'll apply a special poultice that will help with those cuts, they're pretty nasty. He'll still be pretty weak though. I suggest you stay home an rest young dude," he finally says to Michael. Michael's lips twist into a sour expression.

At least Michael looks like he's beginning to heal, versus the shredded mess he was earlier.

"And say I don't rest, is there anything that can buy me temporary strength?"

"I've got a special blend of liquid Ma Huang I've concocted; works better than adrenaline. That tea should numb much of the pain, you'll still find it hard to move around, but you'll feel a little like superman at the same time. It's best administered directly into the vein and right before your event."

"If you'd be so kind as to leave some please good, doctor. I'll take care of the rest."

It's amazing how quick Dr. Shaggy went from sorcerer, to good doctor.

"It's not what I normally do, but I totally believe in going with the flow I'm feeling young dude and that flow is saying it will be okay for me to leave you some. I'm only going to leave one dose though, compadre. It's pretty awesome stuff, you'll definitely be tempted to OD on it"

Judging from the look Michael's giving him, I think he thinks he'll be fine, but in true form to how he was 'raised' he just says "yes, sir."

I pay Dr. Shaggy extra well this time, at least I try to. "Whoa! Sam-man, you don't have to do that. Just pay me my regular house call fees and for the goods I used on him."

"Are you sure?"

"I know good people when I feel them and I don't feel them too often anymore. You and your family are good people. And in case you forgot, there's such a thing called doctor-patient confidentiality," he winks. "You don't gotta pay me off."


When he leaves I go back to check in on Michael. I was supposed to make dinner tonight, but if I need to stay with him, I can arrange something else.

"How are you doing, Michael?"

"I feel like fucking roses."

"Okay, enough. I think you're well enough you can clean up your language, Sur. I was thinking I could stay with you for a bit."

I sit down on the bed next to him. "Tom, leave," he commands.

"C-can you, do that thing?"

I smile. Michael wants love, even if he can't say the word. Heck. I don't know if he believes it exists other than in the form of this 'profound bond' he keeps talking about. But he's come to like being cared for as much as he likes to care for Dean. I often told him that since his vessel is human, and humans thrive on the energy of love (least I think so), he needs that to heal just as much as anything else. That's the 'thing' he's referring to. "Of course."

He curls on his side, painfully and hugs a pillow. I decide on carding my hand through his hair since that's the only part of him free of markings other than his face and neck. "Are you sure you've got to do this? I know my son. He'll understand Michael."

"It will upset him."

"You upset him all the time."

"Not this way. This is…different." He's starting to drift off.

"You still look awful, I don't think a couple hours sleep and an adrenaline-like herb are going to be enough to fool Dean."

"I needed to be mobile, and I will be enough for dinner. Now that I'm in a better state, I can tell him I got in a fight with an angel. It happens all the time. He knows."

"You could tell him that's the reason you can't make it."

He's fighting to stay awake. "Please Mr. Winchester. I need to be there."

"Okay. Don't worry about it for now, just sleep, Michael. I'll stay as long as you want."

"Just 'till I'm asleep, but you'll make sure Tom knows to wake me up?"

And he calls Dean stubborn. "I'll make sure."

He's asleep almost instantly, but I stay to watch over him, just to make sure. He seemed confident this wasn't going to kill him, but even with everything we've done, I'm not so sure.

Before I leave, I call Bobby so he can call off his search and promise him Dean and I will visit this summer when we're back. Maybe a Daddy-son road trip in the Impala one of the times Cas is away…


"So I'm surprised I'm not on lock down 'till I'm forty," I say to Daddy who still looks fucking tired. Papa finally said I was done studying and Daddy asked if I could help him make dinner.

"Believe me, that was my vote. You're lucky your papa spoils you."

"Spoils? I've been studying for the past four hours. I thought my eyeballs were going to dry up."

"I thank you for not causing him trouble on that, Dean Bean."

"What choice did I have? It was that or get spanked and my butt is already tender."

He laughs at me. "Thanks anyway, sweetheart. I was really worried about you last night; I selfishly voted against you going to Michael's," he admits as he chops carrots.

"I don't blame you. I don't think I would have let my son go trouncing off to his," I don't know what to call Michael. "His angel's house."

"You see? You are spoiled, Sur."

Thinking of it that way, maybe I am. If I did have a son, there's no way I'd let him date an angel dick. Not all angels are like Michael. I grab one of his chopped carrots and pop it in my mouth as I shred lettuce. "I'm glad I got to go though. Michael and I figured stuff out, kinda. But I don't know, Daddy, it seems like he's encouraging me to date Brad, but I don't really think he wants me to date him at all. I think he'd rather give Brad to cannibals tied with cooking string, you know?"

And all of a fucking sudden, he's crying, and I don't know why and I hope Papa doesn't walk in right now. "Daddy, I'm sorry. Did I say something?"

"No. No sweetheart. Come here." He wraps me with his large body. "I'm just a little sad today because of recent events." He pulls away from me, kisses my forehead and wipes his eyes.

"The demons didn't get me Daddy—I won't let'em. 'Sides, aren't you going to teach me?"

"I am." He releases me and I go back to my lettuce shredding. "You need to follow your heart Dean. Don't let me, or Papa, or Michael, or Brad tell you what to do. Okay?"

"Yeah Daddy," I smile at him.

"Unless it's about hunting, then you keep your butt in school until your father and I say otherwise, which will be 'till you're sixty-five."

I laugh. "I'm not going to go hunting. I swear it." I give him more details about last night, what happened pre-demons with Brad; during and after with Michael. Like I said, I'm pretty open with my parents, Daddy's my best friend.

The hearing me tell him the story and being around me soothes him; I can tell he's more relaxed by the time we're ready to put dinner on the table. I'll make sure to hang around him the next couple of days. He doesn't do well with the whole demons near me thing. Let's just say, this isn't the first time. And never mind demons, I had a pretty bad fall off my bike when I was six and he slept in my bed with me for a week; it would have been longer, but Papa intervened.

I was so distracted trying to make Daddy feel better, I don't notice Michael's absence until we're placing stuff on the table. I check my phone. There are no texts from Michael (not even a response to my text from earlier), but there is one from everybody else: Brad and Hannah and Kelsey, and Holden from my hockey team. Wow. When did I become so popular?

I decide to respond to everyone later. I'm starting to fucking worry about Michael. He's never late. Not without telling me at least. Papa joins us. "Dean, I heard from Michael about thirty minutes ago."

At least he called his fucking boyfriend. "Yeah?"

"He's going to be a bit late; he's on his way. He was held up unavoidably."

That means his father. "Oh," I say re-fucking-lieved.

"Why don't you put his plate together for him Dean Bean?"

"Yeah okay, Daddy."

We haven't even said grace yet, when I hear the doorbell ring. I look to Papa, because I want to get it, but I don't ask. "Go ahead, Kiddo."

I head to the door, and when I'm out of Papa's eyesight, I run. He's just coming in the door, I slam into him squeezing him around the waist like I always do. But not like always, his whole body tenses up and he seems to exhale a sharp breath after he's taken a moment to relax his body. I pull away from him and look him over. In all my worried tension he wasn't coming, then elation to find out he was only going to be late, I didn't bother to notice; he's not right. "Hello my duckling. Did you study like a good boy?"

"What the hell is wrong with you Michael? You look fucking terrible."

"That's a fine way to greet me. Maybe I wasn't as thorough as I thought this morning."

"Don't bullshit me."

"I got in a little scuffle with an angel that involved an angel blade at my father's meeting. It's no big deal, but it's still healing. You squeezed the fuck out of it."

I back away. "Oh. Sorry."

"I'm okay."

"Which angel was it?" I remember the angel blade I still have hidden away, maybe it's fucking time to pull it out.

"A dead angel. I won, but I didn't escape without something to remember him by."

"That's too bad. I would have liked a crack at the dick. How dare anyone touch you." I don't realize how angry I am about it until I say the words; I'm panting and breathing hard. Yeah, it's a fucking good thing that angel's dead. All I'm going to say.

Michael's hand reaches out fast and grabs my shirt by its buttoned center, he uses momentum to spin me and slam me against the door. His other arm seems to be hanging kind of limply. "You don't get cracks at angels, do you understand me Dean?"

Michael's blue eyes are blazing like flame centers. "O-okay. Jeez. I'm sorry."

"That's a rule Dean."

I know he knows we're supposed to make the rules together, but it won't matter with that rule. He'll have it whether I want it or not. "Yeah, fine."

He lets me go, then he almost goes. I have to catch him. "Fuck, Michael. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Let's go sit down." Yeah because he can't stand the fuck up anymore.

Daddy sees I'm virtually Michael's crutch once we've entered the dining room and he runs to help, we get Michael into his seat. "He had a scuffle with an angel," I explain.

"Stop fussing over me, Dean."

"How is explaining why you can barely walk, fussing?"

"It's the tone in your voice."

He's really starting to piss me the fuck off. How many injuries (ones my daddy wouldn't let him heal) has he nursed me through? I'm pissed, so I don't say another word and thankfully Daddy decides he'll say grace, which he ends with, "we are thankful that the four of us are all here for this meal. Amen."

"That was quite lovely Mr. Winchester," Michael says to Daddy at the end of the meal, making like he's all fucking fine. He does seem to have recovered from using that little burst of energy to slam me against the door. But he's not using his left arm very much.

"Dean did much of the work," Daddy points out.

"And he says he's not June Cleaver," Michael says.

"I told him he looks good in an apron," Papa joins in.

Okay, the joke's still a little funny, 'cause me as June Cleaver? That's hilarious. I crack a smile.

Michael reaches under the table to grab my hand.

"How about you boys run along?" Papa says. I look at Papa like he's grown a third head. Run along? I thought for sure we'd be having some sort of discussion about Sunday dinners and how Michael's kicked out. Or maybe that's something he's saving for our private discussion, where I'm sure I'm going to get roasted? Either way, I decide it's a good time to get the fuck out if we're going to be dismissed so easily.

"Do you need help?" I ask Michael. He scowls at me.

"I don't need help." He gets up smoothly, but his movements are strangely ridged at the same time.

"Fine. Suit yourself." Why did he bother coming at all? He's being a grouchy asshole.

He grabs my hand again, since he had to let go of it to stand up, and I feel like he's holding tighter than he usually would, even in his weakened, state like he's afraid to let go. And it hits me. All of us may be moving on from last night, but he hasn't. That's probably the real reason why he's so grouchy; the angel brawl wouldn't have helped his mood any; I should cut him some slack.

We head to the living room where he can sit comfortably. "Why don't you lay down Michael?"

"Then where will you sit?"

"On the floor. I can kneel and look up at you adoringly," I tease him.

He smiles. "As much as I like you on your knees and adoring me, I'd rather you be closer to me." He sits down against the left couch arm side, so he can put the arm that doesn't seem to be working well on it, and pulls me down with him carefully. I'm gentle as I snuggle into him. "So, tell me. Did you see Bradley Beefcakes today?"

"Oh my god Michael, I don't want to talk about him. You're hurt, even if you don't want to admit it. I don't want to rile you up."

"I'll take that as a yes. I'll bet he was just tickled pink to know I've said he can still play with you."

"I actually broke up with him, or tried to anyway. But as it turns out, I'm going on a second date this Wednesday."

"That's funny. I don't recall you asking me about that, but I do seem to recall a conversation in which you were supposed to run all your plans by me."

Shit. I fucking forgot. "Right. I'm sorry, I forgot. Um, Michael?"

"Yes, Dean."

"I'd like to go out on Wednesday. Will that work out for all parties involved?"


"What? You're not being serious are you? Holy fuck you are. I said I was sorry."

"You should be punished in some way."

I don't say anything to that and ball my fists because I did agree to the rule and I did fuck up, but it's real fucking inconvenient. What will I tell Brad? He'll be pissed.

"It's fine for you to go, you can un-ball your fists now. Besides, you need all the opportunities you can get to win our little bet."

What the hell? This is fucking confusing. Yeah I was upset by the ruling, but now he's undone it, I'm upset at the undoing of it. There was something I got from him telling me I couldn't go. It was a rule. I broke it. There should be a consequence. Me not going is the obvious one. But shouldn't I just be fucking happy that I can go? That's what I wanted in the first place. I don't get it. So I'm still left with nothing to say because I've got no clue how to articulate my feelings.

"What's wrong now?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. I'm just worried about you Michael," I lie. But it's not really a lie, because I am worried about him. My sincerity comes across.

"I'm okay, Duckling." He turns my head to facing him and he leans in to kiss me. I don't expect his tongue to enter my mouth—not when we're on the couch in the living room where my parents could walk in at any moment—but it slides in and tangles with mine. My damn cock hardens and I try pulling in one of his breaths. He pulls away gives me a weak smile.

"I'm going to have to fucking masturbate later after a kiss like that you know."

"Good. Think of me."

"I always fucking think of you, Michael."

"Really? Tell me."

"Well last week I got a hard on as I was about to go to sleep."


"I pulled down my pajama pants, so they were just under my cock and grabbed my trusty bottle of lube before I laid down on my bed."

"Do you always wear pajamas to bed?"

"Didn't you notice I was wearing them in the morning when we woke up? I put them back on in the middle of the night when I said I was going to the bathroom at your place. I get cold."

"I will keep you warm."

"You rolled over."

"It shan't happen again. When you sleep in my bed, you sleep naked. Rule," he smirks.

"You're quite rule happy lately. You do realize I have to agree to these rules?"

"Oh you'll agree to that one," he says confidently.

I shake my head. "Do you want to hear about me jacking off or do you want to argue about pajamas?"


"I imagined I walked into your loft and you were playing Metallica."

"For Whom the Bell Tolls, or Fade to Black?"

"Of course For Whom the Bell Tolls." I schooled Michael in Metallica, because I never forgot about Metallica—that's something you can't forget. To my shock, he fucking loved it right away. "You told me to put my hands on the counter and when I did, you unbuttoned my jeans, yanked them down and started spanking my ass."

"Are you sure this wasn't my fantasy? I just don't see you as the obedient type. Shouldn't you have given me more lip?"

"I was really fucking horny, there wasn't time for lip—but I've got some of those fantasies too, where I'm a real brat and you've got to teach me a lesson."

"I see."

"Anyway, you fucked me all around your apartment after you warmed my ass. It ruled. I came hard," I start laughing. "And I must have been loud because Daddy happened to be walking past my room and asked me if I was okay."

"I could have lived my whole existence never knowing that part of the story. You're an over sharer."

"I share just the right amount."

"What'll it be tonight then?"

"Not sure yet, I don't really plan these things."

"So long as I'm the one starring in your fantasies and not Rad Brad."

"Really? I was thinking a threesome."

His grip on me tightens. "That's a good idea, if you want Brad to end up with a broken dick after I snap his monstrous appendage in half. I thought you wanted him to fuck you with it?

"Right, so no threesomes."

We're quiet after that for a bit and I eventually feel Michael's breathing change to the methodic rhythm of sleep. He's out cold.

That's when Daddy comes in. "I think we should get Michael home Dean. How about we take him together Sugar? I'll drive his Jeep, you can follow in the Impala. What do you say?"

I nod. Michael really shouldn't even be here. I can tell he's in a great deal of pain, especially if he's fucking nodded off into one of his dead sleeps like that. "Hey Daddy, Papa would have let Michael out of tonight, I know he would have, do you think Michael didn't know? Maybe we should tell him?"

"I think he knows sweetheart."

"I don't understand why he'd come then, it's just Sunday dinner; he didn't want to do it in the first place. He hates anything that's too couplely."

"Well, because the one Dean Winchester is here, that's why."

"He just saw me this morning and last night…do you think it's because of last night? Is there something I should be doing?"

He laughs his amused laugh. "Well he…I think you're doing just fine, sweetheart. But not to worry, we have lots of time to talk about things you can do."

Chapter Text

When I move to get out of bed, I can feel my still sore ass (though far less sore than yesterday) and I smile because I think of Michael. I like the reminder that he's always got my back; can save me from myself. I make sure to put aloe on it, because Michael will fucking kill me if I don't, then I get ready for school.

I check my phone and as has been the case lately, I've got several text messages.

I smile at Brad's text. Good morning beautiful. Yes, you were the first thing I thought of this morning. We were texting 'till fairly late last night while I was in bed, but I was still pretty tired and fell straight to sleep after an excellent masturbation session.

Kelsey sent me a text too. She really wants to do this double date thing, and not wanting to let her down, I tell her I'll make it happen. Holden sent me the date for the Hockey get together, which is just before we leave for Texas, which is in two more weeks.

Hannah and I also chatted via text last night (yeah I had two fucking conversations going for a little while) we talked about the 'happenings' for a very short time, since she was way more interested in my fucking love life. But she's sent one this morning asking if I can pick her up for school.

But Michael's text is perplexing. Even with all the 'positive' texts I've gotten filled with happy 'teenage' goings on, it only takes his one short text to make my whole mood swoop downward. Can't see you this week. Busy. See you Friday.

Friday? Fucking Friday? And it's so short and abrupt and well, he didn't call me beautiful, or duck. Hell, I'll even take petal, or fucking pickle over whatever the fuck that text was. I make the rash decision to be an asshole back.

No problem. I'm busy too. I've got plans for Friday. I leave off the 'asshole,' because well, I'm pissed, but I'm not suicidal. I'm fucking worried about him and in true Michael form he's going to distance himself from me and be a dick while doing it. Fine.

I shower and get ready for school, then head down to the kitchen, still pissed.

Daddy's there. "I suggest you cool that thunderstorm you've got brewing on your face, Sur. That's the one that gets you in trouble with your father."

"I don't have a thunderstorm on my face, Daddy," I say as I sulkily sit at the bench on my sore fucking ass that's all Michael's fucking fault.

Daddy gives me coffee and some breakfast all the while watching me with a disapproving look.

"Morning family," Papa says when he enters the kitchen. "What's up with sunshine over there?" he says to Daddy. Yes he's being fucking sarcastic.

"I don't know yet, but I think I can guess."

"I'm fine," I try to say politely, but I wish everyone would just leave me the fuck alone this morning. I can feel father's eyes boring into me.

"Do you want to try that again? Or do you need help?" Papa says. Help means spanking in case you haven't been following along.

I look down at my plate in front of me. "No, sir. I'm sorry—it's just…Michael."

"It hasn't even been twenty-four hours, baby boy. What happened? How much could the guy do in his state?" Daddy says.

"He text me saying he's too fudging busy to see me 'till Friday."

"Good Lord, Dean," Daddy says thinking I'm ridiculous.

"He's hurt, Dean. He probably just wants to rest," Papa says.

What the fuck? Did Papa just defend him? He usually takes my side.

"But aren't I supposed to take care of him? Like, bring him chicken noodle soup and stuff. That's what you're supposed to do for sick…for people you care about."

"You're busy today anyway Dean Bean. We have a ton of baking to do for the fundraiser, plus we are hosting the food for the event this year. Michael will heal just fine on his own. Tom's looking after him."

We didn't even get to go in the building last night. Tom was there ready to take Michael from us. I wanted to tuck him in, make sure he was taken care of, but I didn't get to do any of that. Complete bullshit.

I don't mean to, but I glare at Daddy. He's not getting it. No one is. Why are they being so insensitive this morning? I feel like they're both against me.

"That's enough Dean," Papa says. "I'm giving you until after to school to sort yourself out and if you don't have it figured out by then, I'm doing it for you. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." This morning sucks. Daddy gives me his 'what did I tell you?' look, feeling no sympathy for me whatsoever.

Somehow I manage to make it out of the house without a spanking and I'm super glad when it's just me and Baby driving to Hannah's.

"So, I've been doing some more thinking about Saturday night," she says.

"I already told you Han, I'm not getting the Letterman jacket back and Brad knows this."

"Not about Brad, about the strange shit that happened, ass. None of it makes any sense."

What the? She didn't seem interested in it at all when we were texting and suddenly now I find out she's been sleuthing? "I thought we already talked about this."

"We did, but I couldn't say much on the phone Dean. If it is something, anyone could be listening—big brother you know. Best we talk in person."

I do not like where this is going.

"Something about it reminded me of that old show we used to watch, Totally Supernatural Dudes with those two really hot guys."

Aw fuck. Yeah, so a while back, Uncle Jared and Jensen found out this prophet dude was writing books about them, because he thought he was this really great writer, but turns out he was receiving prophecies from 'above.' I wasn't given all the details, just enough to be able to laugh my fucking face off, especially when the books got made into a T.V. show that only ran one season. It's still a huge hilarious joke for those of us in the family 'in the know.' I still think the name is really dumb. Totally Supernatural Dudes? Why not just call it Supernatural?

"I loved that show. It's too bad they don't make more episodes."

"I only watched it for you Han."

"Yeah, I don’t think so Dean. Anyway, the guys in that show used to pretend to be FBI agents, and other kinds of officers when they'd question people. I can't let what happened the other night go for some reason and well, I wouldn't mind doing some looking around for fun."

"Aside from the fact that we both look seventeen and would never pass for agents of any kind, the police are handling it. It could be dangerous, we should stay out of it." Jesus Christ. I cannot let Hannah involve herself.

"Well duh. Of course we can't be 'officers.' But kids are always doing those work experience programs for school. Maybe we're 'junior' officers, sent after the real officers have done their work, you know, to practice what it's like to ask questions. And we're just asking questions Dean, out of curiosity. That's it. No danger about it."

Except my parents and Michael would put this under the category of hunting and I'd end up grounded for fucking life. That sounds pretty dangerous to me.

But then she makes it fucking harder for me to say no. "Here. You know how handy I am on Adobe. I made these. I think they're pretty fucking good."

She hands me my ID badge: Junior Agent James Hetfield. "You made me the lead singer of Metallica?"

She's smiling, giddy and totally proud of herself. "I know, right? Totally kick-ass. I'm Ann Wilson."

From Heart. "My fucking favorite lady band and my fucking favorite band of all time. You're killing me Hannah."

She laughs. She fucking knows it too.

Now I'm fucking considering it. "Don't these programs usually involve going with the actual officer?"
"Way ahead of you." She pulls out another badge, it's for Brad. "He looks like he's thirty—he'll pass."

"That's never going to work. Everyone knows Brad in this town. He's the fucking Captain of the football team. He knows Derek Miller's girlfriend, she's a cheerleader, which makes them practically family."

"Miller's girlfriend is a cheerleader, but he's not actually on the football team. I'm betting on Brad not knowing him all that well, so I doubt he's ever been to the house other than for parties, which his parents are never present at. And besides, we'd do this during school hours, so only Mr. Miller would see us. Rumor has it, he's out of town a lot. Come to think of it, have you noticed they're never around much at all? That's something to write down," she mutters the last part to herself. "I highly doubt he's even met Brad; I'd be surprised if he made time to attend games, since his son isn't even on the team. But if you're really worried, we can make a good disguise for Brad."

This is a bad fucking plan and I don't like the skipping school part. More things for my parents to find out. "No. No way Han. It'll never work, let's just leave well enough alone." I flick the 'badge' at her.

But Hannah's not one to give up easily. "Okay. You're a fucking grouch this morning, I get it, but I'm leaving this here for you anyway. You can think about it." She slips it into the glove box as I pull into my parking spot. Fucking Hannah.

"Aw, c'mere baby girl. You know I love you and these badges are awesome—I just can't do it, okay?"

"Okay, Dean. Whatever you say," she says with a smile that says she's not accepting that and she'll just harass me about it later. Fuck.

I check my phone again before I enter the building. Michael hasn't even responded to my asshole text. Now I'm a mix of worried and mad. Maybe I should just go by there real quick after school?

Brad's sitting on the short cement wall by the stairs that lead to the entrance. He hops down when he sees me. He's wearing his jacket even though he probably doesn't need it, since it's pretty hot, but those football guys don't seem to go anywhere without their jackets. I've got one for hockey, but I don't wear it all the fucking time.

Suddenly, my bad mood melts away; I smile when he smiles. "Hey, Sugar." He kisses my lips and takes my hand. We walk into school together.

"Morning. I've got lunch for us." I told Daddy all about our lunch date, so of course he packed us something.

"Aw, you didn't have to do that."

"I didn't. Daddy did."

"Well just the fact you're going to share with me Dean Winchester."

I look at him surprised.

"I may be a football jock, but I pay attention." His blue eyes pretty much sparkle; it feels nice to be paid attention to, especially after this morning.

I am a little shy at the attention we're getting as we walk down the hall together. Yeah shy. I don't really favor being this kind of center of attention. But he clearly is.

We stop by my locker and I drop the lunch stuffs and exchange a few books out. He insists on carrying my book bag to class for me. "What you got first, Sugar?"

"A Calculus Final."


"Yeah, I'm in all the 'advanced placement' classes. You still want to date a nerd?"

"'Course I'm still dating you. I love it. I'm just impressed. You're a jock and a genius. Besides some of the other football guys are in some AP classes. But calculus? I'm not looking forward to taking that next year."

"I'm good at it. I'll help you," I say without realizing what I'm saying. That's assuming we're still together next year and I didn't mean to fucking say that. It makes him happy though.

"My hero."

He drops me at class and kisses my lips again. "Kindly extricate yourself from Mr. Winchester, Mr. Davis and please refrain from making out in front of classroom doors. Mr. Winchester, get in here." That's Mr. Arbuckle, my calculus teacher. He's really not a bad guy, just doing his job.

"Good luck even if you don't need it. See you later darlin'."

There's a childish round of 'Ohh-oooh's' from the kids already in class. The second bell hasn't even rung yet, so not everyone's here. "Sorry, Mr. Arbuckle."

"Take your seat, please." It's a good thing I'm doing well in his class. He's not one to pick favorites, but being a calculus ace does buy me some points with him. He could have given me detention for that.

I do well on the test; I'm finished early and as it turns out it was a good thing Papa made me study those extra hours. I swear to Christ that guy has a real magic eight ball. I'm so glad we got to take this exam pretty early, this class will become a spare block now, which I kind of neglected to tell my parents. They'd fill it with something, trust me and I'd rather keep it free.

My next class is English, which actually does have a few football jocks (as depicted by their jackets) even though it's the advanced placement version and they call me over. "Hey Winchester, you sit with us now."

"Oh, I do, do I?" I don't really sit with anyone except Hannah. We're not in every class together. She's AP too, but it's a decent sized school with a couple of choices of class times for each AP class.

I recognize one of the guys from the party. The Mark dude. "We've gotta talk about how we're going to put some meat on those bones in the gym."

I don't really care if I sit with them or not, so I do. It's actually all right.

Brad and I meet for lunch, we decide on outside since it's so fucking nice out. No. Michael still hasn't text me in case you were wondering.

"This is good. Your daddy's a real whiz in the kitchen. What kinda Sandwich is this?"

"Well the one you ate last time, Daddy calls that the Deanwich. This one's called the Dean special."

"Do all his sandwich names have the name Dean in them?" he asks wryly.

"Um, yeah I think so."

He laughs. "That man sure loves you."

Yeah, and I was grouchy this morning and wouldn't listen to him all because of stupid Michael.

"So what other kinds of Deanwiches are there?"

He's lying on his side, jacket off and I'm sitting cross legged away from him with my school jacket off and my sleeves rolled up. "Well, there's the Meatball Deanmarine."

He laughs. "Then there's the Quesadeana, and the Dean dip." He's laughing harder now.

"Your daddy's awesome."

"He's the fucking best."

Daddy also packed us dessert. "Does this have a name?" he asks.

"No. Just regular old brownies with cashews," I say and leave out that when I was three I thought cashews were called Dean's shoes. Don't ask me where I got the Dean from in that—but with Daddy adding Dean to everything, can you blame me? So Daddy sometimes still calls them brownies with Dean's shoes to tease me.

"You might have the metabolism of a hummingbird, but I'm going to have to work some of this off. I'm going to hit up the gym after school tomorrow, think you can join me?"

I shake my head. "I've gotta help Daddy. All week actually." Speaking of which, I may have cleared Brad's and my date with Michael, but I haven't with Daddy yet. Normally he wouldn’t have a problem, but I did promise to be his bake sale slave.

When we're all done, Brad pulls me closer, but not too close. We've already been reprimanded once for PDA's today, we have to be careful at school if we're going to be out in the open like this (which is why I prefer bushes and underneath football stands), but I do lay next to him staring up at the sky. My hand's stretched out on his rippling six-pack I can feel under his shirt and he's holding my hand.

I've never done this before. Just hang out in the open, on a semi-date with someone. I always just jump into sex then jump the fuck out. I remember something. "Kelsey wants us to double date with them." Wow. Even that just makes Brad and me sound so, married. I did just used 'us' in a sentence. I wanted to fucking try it though and I think I liked it.

"Sounds good. How's Friday? You free from baking duty then?"

I'm supposed to see Michael Friday, as per his 'demand,' but you know, I don't fucking feel like it. Apparently I'm not important enough to come take care of him when he's injured. I'm just some stupid, pesky human he indulges from time to time, waiting around for him to give me the time of day.

"Friday's perfect," I say, but it's also the same time the little pit in my stomach grows a little wider. I honestly forgot to run plans by Michael last time, but this time I'm just outright disobeying him. Don't ask me how I plan on making this workout, I don't think that far ahead.

"Okay, I'll make it happen." We lay there in companionable silence 'till the warning bell rings and it's not 'till much later in class when I realize I didn't even try to have sex with Brad and I still had a good time anyway.


On my way home I do think about stopping by. I mean, Michael's usually pretty quick to respond to my snarky, assholish texts, maybe something's wrong. Maybe I have been the dick? Is that even possible? Okay, yeah I know it is. I can be a real dick sometimes, but I mean in this situation, he's the dick, right?

And like he suddenly knows I'm about to come by, he texts me. I don't know what you're upset about now, but calm down. I'm not avoiding you on purpose. And you will be free Friday, because I don't recall okaying any plans.

He sounds just fine. Bet his grace has already healed him. I can just picture the full strength angel, trouncing around all cocky and fucking arrogant in his blazer. And since when is it him 'okaying' my plans? It was only supposed to be me 'running stuff by him,' to make sure someone was around to 'protect' me in case of a freak demon attack. I was okay and all calmed down, but now I'm pissed again. I feel like a fucking ping pong ball of emotions today.

I try to make it to my room without anyone seeing me, but it's just my luck today, that Papa happens to be walking by the entryway, on his way to the kitchen as I'm coming in the door. But his back is turned so I attempt to sneak past him. "Hold it right there Mr. Winchester." I freeze on the stairs and turn to face him.

He swivels around and appraises me and things don't look good for Dean 'Chester. He shakes his head. "No way Dean. Come with me please."

I groan and my whole demeanor slumps. I know where we're going and what's going to happen. I think it was inevitable—I should have just asked Papa to do it before school.

He holds the door open for me and I go into his office ahead of him. "Take your jacket and pants off please."

"Papa, please. I'm still sore from yesterday."

"I imagine so. Do you trust me?"

I sigh and nod. "Yes, sir." Because I really do.

"Okay then. Pants off."

I hang my jacket and pants on a chair together and follow Papa to his armless chair. He brings me over his lap. "I'm sorry I have to pull these down, Dean. I don't know what's already there, I need to be able to see."

I just nod and lift my hips up for him, so he can pull my boxers to my ankles. "Actually, this looks really good. Michael did a good job." He rests his hand on one of my cheeks and the other on the small of my back pushing the long dress shirt up. I have my hands bracing myself on the floor and my toes on the ground on the other side doing the same, but his hand holding me there makes me feel protected. And much as I didn't want this, now that I'm here I feel equal parts relief and embarrassment that he has to do it at all.

That's all he says though before giving each cheek a tap from his hand. I inhale sharply, because they hurt, but I can tell he's not hitting me hard. Just enough to wake up what's already there.

"I've made the observation that you allow whatever's going on with you and Michael affect your entire attitude, and you take it out on whoever happens to be in the vicinity of hurricane Dean. I don't like to see you storming around, a pent up ball of anger until the next time you and Michael make up." He punctuates that with two more spanks of equal caliber to the first. I feel them.

"I'm sorry, Papa, but I get so upset. Aren't I allowed to be upset?"

"Of course you are," he says smoothing his hand over where he just spanked (it helps take some of the sting out). "However, there are better ways of dealing with it. We all mope sometimes Dean, but now it's at least every other day for you."

He spanks me again. "I think you've been taught plenty of other methods. Can you remind me of what they are?"

This is the part where most teenagers would get off saying, 'I don't know,' or 'whatever.' But when you're lying facedown over your father's knee, those answers just won't fly. And FYI, don't ever say 'whatever' to Papa. I'm already tearing up. He isn't spanking me hard, but he doesn't need to today. All of my emotions are already at the surface and he's right, I do let my 'Michael emotions' control me. "I can always," sniff, "talk to you or Daddy, or Uncle Dal, or anyone really." I have a huge fucking family as you know, but sometimes I have to be reminded.

"Good. What else?"

"Journaling, or go do something active if I really can't talk about it rather than fester and stew and be a jerk to everyone."

He spanks me again. "You're not a jerk, Dean. And that's all very good, but you've still missed one, I'll give you a hint." I can't help clenching my cheeks a little when he lays down four more spanks.

"I-I can ask for a spanking." Father calls these 'thinking' kinds of spankings, but I think they're talking kinds of spankings. And I know I can ask for these anytime; you might be shocked to know I have.

I'm really crying by this point. I didn't realize just how upset I've been since this morning, but Papa knew and this is just about the fastest way to 'sort me out.' He rubs the sting out while I cry a little bit, adding a spank here and there and telling me to 'let it all out, kiddo.'

It doesn't go on long, it doesn't need to. Soon he's rubbing my back then standing me up to fix my boxers for me, since I'm blinded with tears and he hugs me tight to him; I grab on for dear life. "I'm s-sorry, Papa."

"It's okay, angel. Feel a little better?"

"Yes, sir. Thank-you." He lets me cry into his shoulder for a little and when he can tell I've stopped, he pulls away and wipes at my tears with his thumb.

"How about put your pants back on, and we can finish talking?"

"Yes, sir."

I slide them on and I'm surprised when I only have the same amount of discomfort as before, just with a bit of extra glow. I felt the spanking while he was doing it, but he left enough of a break in between each swat that the sting was pretty much gone by the time he laid down new ones. He's pretty good at spanking. He can make you feel it, or he can simply give you a reminder when he wants to. I'm very grateful it wasn't a 'real' spanking today.

I leave my shirt untucked and loosen my tie when I sit in one of the comfy leather chairs in front of his desk, he hands me a tissue then leans his ass against the front and crosses his arms comfortably, which means we're not finished by a long shot.

I wipe my eyes and face, then blow. Papa waits.

"The relationship you and Michael have is very mature for such a young person Dean."

My stomach swoops, that's not the best line to open with Papa, but he does that sometimes, so I realize the gravity of what he's saying—this could go in a couple directions. "If it were anyone other than Michael, I wouldn't have allowed it. I want you to understand that."

"I do, Father." He's mentioned it many times over.

"I also understand that this is 'normal' teenage behavior—allowing their boyfriends and girlfriends to dictate their every waking thought, but I expect you to ask for help with the mature relationship I'm allowing you to have with Michael. I want to see a lot more maturity, in fact."

I fucking start crying again and I try to hide my face by bowing my head and palming my eye with the heel of my hand. "Why are you crying, Kiddo?" He knows it's a different kind of crying, or I'd already be back over his knee.

"Because I'm such a fuck-up Papa. I do everything wrong. It's probably why Michael doesn't want to see me this week." That's my and Papa's little secret. He doesn't care so much if I swear when Daddy's not around, so long as I'm not crazy about it, now that I'm older. He cared very much when I was a little kid.

"Oh, Dean," he sighs. "Papa's too harsh again." He moves over to sit on the arm of the chair and pulls me into him. "You're certainly not a fuck-up Dean. You're a teenager. I'm somewhat glad to see it actually, but it's my job to help you, guide you, understand? You need to experience this tornado of emotions, but I need to make sure it doesn't consume you. That's all this is."

"Okay." I just hate fucking letting him down.

He cards fingers through my hair. "Michael's really hurt Dean. That's why he doesn't want to see you. You know that. And I know what you said about wanting to take care of him, but that's not his style. He prefers to take care of you. Don't you remember what it's like around here when I'm sick?"

That makes me laugh. "I remember when you chucked soup at Daddy's head."

"You liked that did you? He was driving me mental with all his love and caring."

"How dare he."

"I think Michael knows that you're a lot like your daddy and he doesn't want to chuck soup at your head."

And just like that, Papa makes me feel better. "Oh, well why didn't you say that earlier?"

"Because I didn't have that thought earlier. You make it so I want always to be a better person, Dean. And just a moment ago, you needed more from me; something I didn't have this morning, so I said: Pull it the fuck together Winchester, and like magic I knew how to explain it so you understood."

Okay now I don't just feel better, I feel like a million bucks. I make him want to be better? I've always admired Papa and respect him like crazy. He and Daddy always make me want to be better. I turn my face up to smile big at Papa.

"Are we clear on what I expect from you?"

"Yes, sir."

"If you forget, I'm more than happy to remind you Mr. Winchester."

I laugh. "I really got it, Papa."

"Okay, June. I think your apron awaits. Daddy's baking up a storm."

"Yeah, I was surprised to see you going into the kitchen at all."

"I was hiding, earlier, but I know how frazzled he gets and needed to check on him. But now that you're here, I'm completely off the hook."

"Oh I don't know, Daddy can hook me in pretty good."

"True. I think we've got at least a couple days before that happens and I can hope Michael heals early."

Okay, now I'm totally suspect of a budding bromance. He wants Michael's help?

"All right. You'd better get going before Daddy looks for you."

Speaking of, I feel my phone vibrate and when I pull it out it's Daddy. Where are you? I see the Impala, but no Dean. Come to the kitchen, Sur.

"Crap. I gotta go, Papa. Thank-you. I actually needed that."

"I know you did. Anytime, Kiddo."


I texted Daddy to tell him I was just changing, head up to put some baking appropriate clothes on and head down.

"I've been waiting for you, where were you?"

It's a really good thing I didn’t detour to Michael's house. "Papa spanked me," I complain, hoping I'll get a bit of sympathy from him.

"It's about time. Put that apron on and start making pie crust."

That's all the sympathy I get in this house. And Daddy's gone into his, what we call, the S.S. Sam, Captain of the ship mode. It's the one you don't fuck with. This version of my daddy even scares Uncle Jen. So I just hop to it.

But it's as I'm making pie crust, I realize: Fuck. I was a fucking dick to Michael and I still have to deal with all that.

When we get a few pies together, Daddy relaxes some. "I have another recruit for Wednesday."


"Brad said he'd help. He can't bake, but he can be our muscles. He can cart jars of beans away or something."

"Excellent Dean Bean."

"And after, if you don't mind us leaving, he was going to take me out for dinner, but we can just go for a quick bite and come back to help you."

"That should be okay, Sweetheart. I'm sure I'll be okay on my own by then." Sometimes Daddy forgets how much help he really had back home when he did stuff like this. And if you're wondering why he won't just get it catered, I'll let you ask him that and get your head bit off. Not even Papa's touching that one. Everyone has to take turns hosting the food for this thing and Daddy's going to do it right.

Contrary to what Papa said about staying away, he comes in to check on us. "How are my boys?"

"Good, Papa. Getting lots done."

"Busy," Daddy tries.

"Sounds like I came at the perfect time to take my family out for dinner."

"We're pretty busy, Cassy. We've got a lot of pies together, but only some of them baked."

"I wasn't asking, Baby," Papa sing-songs. Even I knew that. Daddy must really be into Captain mode.

"Yes, Cas. This pie comes out in twenty minutes."

"Good. Let Donald know and he can take it out when it's done."

Daddy's fists ball up and I have to try not to laugh. They're fun to watch and I wonder what Michael and I look like. But Michael and I will never be them, we won't get to because of his no marriage policy. Brad and I could. I think it before I can stop myself and I can't help picturing it for just a second. I meant what I said, I don't want to get married for a while, but fuck, I think I do someday.

"I will Cassy."

"Thank-you, Baby."

"Where we going, Papa?"

"I thought that burger place sounded good, the one Brad took you to."

"Sweet, burgers."


"Don't worry, I phoned ahead, they have a grass-fed burger and they serve salads."


When we get there, I see there's a swarm of kids around one booth in particular, when I get closer, I recognize the white cowboy hat and head nod and plough through the fucking crowd. When he sees me, he tells his bouncer to part the sea of kids and I feel like fucking Moses.
"Uncle Dal!"

"Hey Half-pint." He stands and wraps me in a big hug.

"You're here."

"Yep. We're doing a surprise show here, just booked it last night. Can you come? I'll make sure you have as many tickets as you need."

After all that great schooling, earning his Ph.D. in psychology (which came in real handy when I was younger, still does), Uncle Dal became a country singer. And he's really fucking popular which is why it's shocking to see him in a joint like this. Our town, Collins, is not the largest one in California, but it's got us, so he plays in our small concert venue every so often. We talk all the time though and he's still here plenty, since he technically lives here. He has his own home in Collins where he stays when he's not on tour. He could never bring himself to leave us.

"Of course I'll be there. When is it?"


Of course it fucking is. 'Cause there are no other fucking days in the week. "I'll be there." I'll figure something out. I realize belatedly it's something I'll have to clear through Papa, since it's something that probably doesn't end 'till ten.

"This is my last stop. Then I'm heading onto Texas with y'all."

"Dally!" Daddy screams in true Colt fashion from behind me.


I move the fuck out of the way and let them do their thing. I'm definitely more like Papa's family in that regard; I don't usually scream my head off and jump around like they do. Uh, except for what you just saw a moment ago—I'm known to get excited a time or two; especially when it's a surprise. C'mon.

Papa's last to greet him in his more reserved Winchester manner with a warm brotherly hug. "Good to see you Dallas."

It's a good visit. Daddy makes me order the grass-fed burger with salad, but Papa gets an order of fries for the table. "And you say you're not spoiled, Dean Winchester."

We all laugh. Uncle Dal tells us stories from the road.

It's fun and relaxing and a good way to erase any residual darkness from the past two days. Uncle Dal has a way of doing that. No matter how dark things seem he's always the sunshine that breaks the clouds.

Dal leaves for his place and I promise to come by sometime this week, though I'm not certain when I'm going to fit it in since things are getting very busy for Dean 'Chester since I've apparently got this huge social life now. Speaking of there's one thing I'd better talk to Papa about pronto. Normally I'd go through the back door and talk to Daddy, but I'm still making up to Daddy for the last act of Dean Winchester selfishness.

Soon as we get home, Daddy leaves to make sure his pies were properly taken care of and I ask Papa if I can talk to him. "What's up kiddo?"

I have to be very careful here. You do not ask to get out of a punishment. That's a well-known rule in our home. If you do, all you're going to find is a lengthened sentence, which I had to learn the hard way when I was younger. Papa takes great offence and considers it a huge disrespect. It also tells him you haven't learned your lesson, so he thinks he has to make it clearer for you.

"So, Uncle Dal has a concert on Friday night and he was wondering if I could go."

"You know you don't have to ask me to go to something like that."

He's fucking testing me. "It's just, kinda late, sir. But not to worry, I'll be home by ten."

"I'm not worried about it at all. I wouldn't be the one in trouble."

My cheeks heat a little.

He smiles. "I know what you're not asking, well played, son. Though this is very close to asking. We've had many a discussion on implications."

"Yes, sir." I look down at my hands, just hoping I'm not in trouble, no longer concerned about being allowed to stay out past curfew. That is not going to happen. I know Papa better than that.

"I'd like to say it was okay you break curfew for this, but I'm sensing you need more structure; not less. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Am I allowed to disagree? Agreeing doesn't exactly help my cause, Father."

He laughs. "I suppose it wouldn't help, no. But if you can give me a good counterpoint on this one, maybe I'll reconsider."

Fuck. I was not prepared for this debate. I am on the debate team (though all of that is over for the school year) but I get all flustered in front of Papa. He's way better at it than I am and there isn't really a good counterpoint since he was just spanking me hours ago. He's always fucking right. It's kind of annoying. "I don't, Papa," I sigh.

"So we agree then?"

"Yes, sir." Even though I want him to let me do it anyway.

"I used to hate it when my father said this, but you'll understand when you're a parent Dean. I have to make the decision I think is best for you even if it's not the fun one. It's because I love you so much."

How do you be mad at that? "I love you too Papa."


It's only nine, but it's too late to go anywhere on a school night (even without the early curfew) and I feel like I've got all these problems I have to solve. The easiest solution would be to cancel the double date for Friday, since it's not really planned yet, but I don't want to let Brad or Kelsey down.

Michael's already mad at me, so what else is new? I decide he's the one I'm going to try to get out of seeing. I'll make it up to him with good head, in the back of Babylon on Saturday. But text or call?

He doesn't seem to want to fucking talk to me anyway, so I text: Dal's in town. It's his concert Friday night.

I stare at that because I don't know how the fuck to word it. It's a little late for 'asking' now. But I don't even know how it turned into that. It was a run by thing. I decide to try and reinstate that. I change my message to" Dal's in town. He's getting me tickets to his concert. Will you or Tom be around so I can go?"

Yeah. That sounds good. I press send.

There's no answer, so I decide to slip into my pajamas and brush my teeth. I'll probably go have a cup of tea with Daddy before I actually go to bed.

I hear my phone on the bed. My tummy squirms a bit. What's he going to say?

I'm a bit fucking relived when it's Brad. Kelsey and Ryan are in for Friday. Dinner?

Fuck. And I know, I know. It's your own fault Dean Winchester. No one feels sorry for you.

I'm about to text Brad back when I get Michael's text. I can almost hear his voice tell me: Oh, we'll both be around. And you're still not going.

And I shit you not, I'm about to text him to fuck off. I take a breath and remember my 'chat' with Papa earlier. I try to send him a reasonable message back. Why the fuck not?

I get an unreasonable message back: Because I said so.

In the past I would have text him back that I don't have to do what he fucking says, but it's different now. Not for the first time, I find our relationship confusing and I'm not sure what the right thing to do is.

But when it crosses my mind to talk to Daddy about this, the confusion clears, because I'm pretty sure I know what he'd do. He wouldn't have got himself in this situation in the first place, because he never would have lipped off to Papa. But if he did, he would apologize profusely. I'm just not quite there with this yet.

Okay, fuck. I'd better call Michael at least.

I phone and I'm surprised when he picks up. "Oh, not too busy to accept phone calls from me, just to fucking see me?" Okay, guess I'm still not over that like I thought I was.

"I knew you were having a temper tantrum over that."

He still sounds fucking beaten, which softens me a little, but fuck him. I don't care if he chucks soup at my head. I want to take care of him.

But thinking of that conversation with Papa, I try to use my nice words and try not to be a moody teenager. "I'm sorry. I over reacted, but you're fucking hurt—how would you feel if you couldn't take care of me?"

"That's different."

I sigh. Like Papa explained I'll bet. They're both stubborn asses when they're unwell. "I want to come see you."

"You can't. I said Friday, Dean."

"I'm busy Friday. Uncle Dal—"

"Your Uncle Dal used to sing to you on a daily basis. You'll live if you miss one of his concerts. I said you're not going, so you're not going."


"You know why."

"I don't actually. The rule was I 'run things by you,' not ask you permission. I don't need your permission to go out Michael."

"Did you run it by me before you made the plans?"

Fuck. "Well, no, but—"

"You broke the rule."

"Can't you just fucking spank me?" I say since there is no counter to that.

"No. I already allowed this to go once and I shouldn't have."

He's really not going to fucking budge on this. "Please Michael. I'd really like to go." That's all I've fucking got at this point.

"Hmmm…that's a funny way to say, yes, sir."

He's well enough to be fucking sarcastic. "Well I don't think it's fair. I've never agreed to you dictating where I go and when we hang out. That's what made me angry in the first place."

"It was a text message Dean. I didn't mean it how it sounded, I'm fucking…" he huffs. "I'm not well. I wasn't dictating we hang out Friday, it was meant to be a suggestion. You were the one telling me you were busy with already made plans, which you never ran by me. That's why you're not going out Friday night. If you don't want to see me, that's fine, but you're still grounded. Now unless you want to also be grounded Saturday, I suggest you stop arguing with me."

I don't know why, but I'm still pissed…and maybe a little turned on. He's right. He's absolutely right. He's known me too long and completely had my fucking number all day. It's turned into one of those situations where I really wish I had kept a lid on my temper, because I'd really like to go out Friday.

I'm mad at my fucking self.

He's waiting for an answer, but I'm still getting over the shock of the way he's so succinctly laid down the law for me. All I can bring myself to say is, "fine."

"Thank-you Dean. I'd really like to see you Friday."

The truth is, I'd really fucking like to see him too. I want to see him right now. I was just, okay, I was just throwing a fit. That's what this was all about anyway. I think. I just want to be with him; it hurts when I'm not with him. "Apparently I'm grounded."

I can hear him smiling through the phone. "You may come to my place."

He can't see me, but I'm blushing like fucking crazy. "Okay."

"I'll see you after school Friday. You come straight here young man," he teases. "Don't wear underwear. I want to fuck your brains out."

Fuck. Now I'm horny. "Right after school."

His voice is soft when he says, "goodnight my duckling."

It occurs to me I don't have anything to call him, so I just say goodnight.


Daddy's still baking pies when I go downstairs. He's going to be in so much trouble when Papa finds out. Just sitting in the kitchen I feel like an accomplice. But I've got a mug of tea before me and I'm hoping Papa will see I'm just talking to him. He's the one who told me to seek out conversation for topics such as my complicated teenage life. I pour my heart out to him as usual telling him everything I've done. I get looks of disapproval, but he seems satisfied with the way I handled things in the end. There's a nice summer breeze coming in the open, sliding kitchen door as it cools off for night time.

"I still want to go though, do you have any mind changing tricks?"

"Sorry, baby. I'm not a Jedi. It's not always easy, I know."

"Like when you think you still need to bake ten more pies, and Papa thinks you should take break and wait 'till tomorrow?"

"I'm not breaking any rules right now," he says defensively.

"Do we need to have a talk about trying to skirt the rules on technicalities, young man?" I say. He laughs at me.

"Your father doesn't understand just how much we need to get done—we're hosting the meal this year too. I have to get started on that."

I realize that maybe I haven't been around to help Daddy as much as I should be. He's got to be really stressed to even think about trying to pull that one with Father. "You know Daddy, how about I stay home Saturday and help you make the food for the fundraiser? I bet I can even make Michael help us."

"Oh Dean baby, we're all square. You're helping me bake all week, you don't have to do that too."

"I want to. No strings attached," I wink. I don't want him thinking I'm trying to get out of something. To prove my point I get up and help him wrap the finished pies in freezer paper. If he's going down with this ship when Papa finds out, so am I.

"Thanks Dean Bean. I'd really appreciate the help."

I help him a while and he looks to be thinking about something 'till he finally says, "have you made any rules yet, Dean?"

Well, just the stupid no kissing on the lips thing, which I broke. I'm fucking terrible at this. "Not really, Daddy."

"You ought to. Make something that will help Michael and he'll ease off of you."

I'm about to ask him, 'like what?' 'cause I'm not really sure what he means by that, but I don't get the chance.

"Samuel. I hope I'm not going to find you in the kitchen still baking," Papa says as he approaches the kitchen.

Daddy looks at me for help. "Run, Daddy."

He escapes out of the open, sliding kitchen door, just in time for Papa to come around. "Hi, Papa," I say innocently.

"You expect me to believe you've been in here doing that all by yourself? Which way did he go?"

"I don't know who you're talking about Papa," I say smiling.

He knows. We're not going to pull the wool over his eyes. We're just having fun.

"Fine. I'll find him myself. You're going up to bed."

"Yes, Papa." I try not to laugh.

"Night, son."

Chapter Text


I have to disappoint Brad as my first act on Tuesday morning and it's a lot harder than I thought it would be. "So here's the thing, I can't go out Friday. I have to see Michael—remember I said this would happen?" I add already defensive and so not owning up to my assholery in this.

To make matters worse, he's so fucking nice about it. "You did. Don't worry about it, baby. I'll smooth things over with Kelsey and Ryan. But do you happen to have a replacement day for me? It'll make it easier."

"Yes, uh, better to do it next week. It's crazy at my house right now with this fundraiser on the horizon. I'll have you a date by the end of today." I hope. I have to run it by Michael and actually this is more fucking annoying than I thought it would be. It's going to be number one on the list of things we need to talk about Friday. "That okay? I'm really sorry."

"Don't think twice about it."

"I'll make sure this date's solid," I promise.

He walks me to class and when I'm there, I stealthily text Michael as Hannah watches me out of the corner of her eye laughing, probably hoping I get caught, but I don't. I write to Michael: Am I good to make plans, for any night next week?"

I get a response almost right away. What kind of plans?

Now it depends on what I'm doing? I want to complain, but I also don't feel like fucking fighting and have him say no, but I'm really fucking pissed, but I'm…but…but…ah! I take a deep breath and remember some of the things Father said to me yesterday. How would a responsible person handle this? Daddy comes to mind; not Daddy of lately, but regular Daddy. I think I know what he'd say back.

Dinner plans with friends.

I press send and wait for a response. Hannah fucking throws a note at me when our teacher's back is turned. I unfold the crumpled paper to see her really bad rendition of James Hetfield with an officer badge. I shake my head at her, she's really not going to let that go, is she? and feel my phone vibrate.

Is Brad one of those friends? I want to tell him to fuck off so fucking bad right now. I should get a medal for my restraint today.

Yes, sir. That ought to get me fucking brownie points. It doesn't.

Do not patronize me, Winchester. Fine. Any day next week is fine. Michael usually only calls me 'Winchester' when he's particularly annoyed with me. He's probably in a bad fucking mood. Everyone is these days.

I decide to carry on my 'good behavior.' Thank you, baby. It's really hard though. I already mentioned the medal, but I should probably also get, like a Nobel prize or something.

I text Brad it's a go and I get a little heart emoticon back from him, which I stare at for too long. "Mr. Winchester, put your phone away now. If I see it again, you can stay after school."

"Yes, Mr. Kostamo."

Hannah quietly laughs her ass off at me.


It's lunchtime and I have to tell Hannah for the third time why we have to hang out with Brad and his people, in a way that doesn't let on how much I'm crushing on Brad. It's hopeless, so I finally just tell her, "I fucking like Brad okay? Can't you do me a solid and find a football player to fuck for a little while?"

Hannah is ridiculously cool, which is why we're such good friends. She's exactly the right amounts man and woman. She smiles slyly, "okay, Sugar," she says trying to imitate me.

I'm ridiculously happy to see him. I smile and grab his hand. "How was class, babe?"

"Good. You kick some ass in your smart people classes?"

"Yeah, I think so." I suddenly realize I have no moves beyond things that lead to sex. I stare at him dumbly waiting for him to lead.

"C'mon brainiac. Let's go eat lunch. You comin' with us Sugar?" he says to Hannah.

Her eyes are clearly saying something along the lines of 'you so owe me Winchester,' but she says, "lead the way cowboy."

We end up outside with some of Brad's football team, and their jackets.

"Okay, I gotta know, what did your daddy pack for you today?"

That makes me laugh. "Allow me to introduce you to the Dean Salad."

"Dean actually eats salad?"

"Not really, but this has enough meat in it, it hardly feels like I'm eating vegetables. And not to worry, there are sufficient carbs provided." I show him the soft, buttered bread Daddy gets fresh delivered sometimes.

"You are spoiled rotten."

I almost tell him Papa spanked me yesterday, in defense of that, but maybe it's still too soon. I do wonder what he would think of that. We've talked about that kind of stuff briefly, but I've never told him about an actual punishment I've received.

When I'm done with lunch, I lay my head in his lap, and spend the rest of the hour listening to their football nonsense, while Hannah makes out with Rick.

It's a pretty great day. Brad asks if he can pick me up for school tomorrow, since he's coming over anyway; I say yes. I go home and help Daddy put together pies we wrap in freezer paper unbaked.

Dinner is super tense between Daddy and Papa. "You're done for the night, Samuel."

Daddy balls his fists. "It's pretty early to pack it in."

"Are you arguing with me, Samuel?"

"No, sir. Can Dean—"


Daddy shovels food into his mouth, to stop himself from saying something stupid. It works for a little while. I'm pretty quiet myself. They're both irritated. It's not often my parents are at odds and it's fucking weird for me. I don't even wait to see if there's dessert. "May I please be excused, Father?"

"Is all your homework done?"

"I don't have any homework, sir."

"But you do have exams. I expect you to clock at least two hours before bed, Dean, which is at ten o'clock tonight. You've been climbing into bed way too late for someone who's in the middle of writing exams."

Fuck. It looks like Papa's bad mood extends to me, but you do not complain with that voice. I do feel like saying, 'thanks a lot, Daddy.' He's the reason Papa's on a rampage. Instead I say the only thing that won't get me grounded. "Yes, sir."

"All right. You're excused."

I get the fuck out of dodge, fast.

I do crack my books when I'm upstairs, but just so when Papa checks on me, it appears as if I've been studying hard. I pull out my phone to call Uncle Dal. "Hey, Dally."

"Hey there Half Pint! Good to hear from you."

"You might not think, so in a second."

I detail for him, Cole's notes style, what's been happening the past couple weeks and realize it's been a lot longer than usual since the last time I talked to him. Even when he's on tour we find time to Skype or Face time. Man. My teenage life has really taken off, so full of drama I'm losing touch with people. I haven't even chatted with any of my cousins in a while.

By the time I'm done, Uncle Dal is laughing his ass off at me. "Only you, half pint. You'd better listen to Michael. Besides, he's right, you've heard me sing often enough."

"I know, but I wanted to go, Uncle Dal."

"Not to worry, Half pint, I'll be singing lots at Nana and Granddaddy Colt's. All the kids'll make me," he chuckles. "But I was hoping I could see you before we leave. You free anytime before then?"

I make plans with Uncle Dal for next week, since Michael's said I'm free to make plans any day next week. He reminds me to 'be good, y'hear?'

"Yes, Uncle Dallas." I get off the phone just in time; Papa's knocking on my door. I make sure it looks like I've been reading something as I'm telling him to come in.

"Hey, Papa."

"How's the studying?"

"Fantastic," I lie.

He looks at me skeptically, fuck, am I biting my stupid lip again? I check. Yep. I don't think Papa quite knows about that, but it's enough to make him question me. In any case, he lets it go. "Okay, another hour. Then how about come down and watch a movie with your daddy and me?"

That does not sound fun. It'll be me in the middle, buffering the tension between my two parents, but I can tell it's not really a suggestion. Papa's gone into that mode of his where he's strictly monitoring and dictating the goings on of his household and it's all Daddy's fault. "Sure, Papa."

I'm right by the way. Daddy's sulkily sitting on the couch when I come down and Papa's on the other side looking irritated. I try to think of a joke to lighten the tone of the hour and not get me in trouble, but nothing comes to mind. I settle for sitting beside Daddy and cuddling him. Fuck you, I'm never too old. He's appreciative and squeezes me tight, kissing my crown.

Papa sends us both to bed at ten and I'm actually kinda glad. I am fucking tired. I get a goodnight text from Brad, but nothing from Michael. I feel half happy and half fucking dejected. Maybe I should send Michael something? Duckling says goodnight.

I look at it before I press send. Maybe it's too much. Will it freak him the fuck out? I close my eyes and fucking send it. I have to wait 'till I've brushed my teeth and am climbing into bed before I get something back, but I do fucking get something back.

Are you wearing pajamas?

I laugh quietly. Of course.

Have you whacked off yet?

Five times I tease. Four times to you, once to Zac Efron.

Michael and I share mutual affections for Zac. He's our older man crush we'd threesome with.

Acceptable. Sounds like you're ready for dreams. Night my duckling.

Night Michael.


"You need help, Sam. It's too much for one person."

"I've got Dean helping me."

"It's too much for two people."

"Bradley is going to help us, today. Isn't he Dean Bean? Tell your papa."

My parents are still at odds the next morning, even though it's obvious Daddy's been spanked, since we can both tell he's avoiding sitting at all costs. Thankfully, it's about as much as my parents ever fight. For them there is no such thing as fighting, because Daddy does what Papa says. End of story. That's the way it's always been since I can remember. But this situation is different. This is one of those areas with Daddy you just don't fuck with and Papa knows it.

Sure Papa can do things to help Daddy, like spankings, and making little rules that force him to take breaks, but if he puts an end to it and makes him get it catered, it will insult and upset him. It'll end up in fucking tears and Papa fucking hates that, so he has to tread carefully.

But Papa's irritated. Normally Daddy would do anything to ease Papa's irritation, but today, his jarred beans are more important.

Thankfully Papa cuts me off before I have to answer that. "If you won't listen to me, listen to our son. Dean, tell your daddy he's being crazy."

Okay, that's not fucking better. I don't want to answer that either. "Um…" Why is Papa trying to get me murdered?

"Don't you say a word Dean Daniel, unless it's to tell your papa to stop worrying about me. I've got everything under control."

Yeah, I'm not suicidal either Daddy. My phone buzzes and I don’t have to check to know who that is. "My ride's here! Gotta go."

"Ride?" they both say at the same time.

"Yeah. Didn't I mention? Brad's picking me up for school since he's coming here after anyway."

Before they can fucking digest that, I'm out, grabbing my lunch bag off the counter as I go.

Brad's waiting for me by the passenger side door to open it like a gentleman; he takes my bags and I climb inside, of course it smells fresh of Brad's cologne. "Hey Gorgeous," he says.

"Hey. Fuck, this morning you're my white knight. Daddy's crazy and Papa worries about him too much." Just because I wasn't saying it to them, doesn't mean it's not true.

"I'll be your white knight any day, Sugar," he says climbing in and kissing me. Fuck am I horny. I haven't had sex in like, whoa, I think today is day number four.

"Well I got something else you can save me from."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"It's a disease that usually afflicts married men," unless you're my fucking parents. Those two are probably fucking, fucking right now. "My balls are blue dude. I'm going to fuck something and I'd rather it be you." Hell, I'll take some fucking not-sex at this point.

He thinks I'm funny. "Why didn't you just say so? You got a spare block this morning right? No more calculus?"

"That's right."

"I can be late to mine. It's just gym."

"Giddy up, Cowboy!" No we don't have sex-sex, but he gives me a blow job that's a pretty close second to what I'm sure sitting on that giant cock would be like. I get to school in a fantastic mood and look forward to snuggling with him at lunch

~Meanwhile, Back at Casa de Winchester~

Dean grabs his lunch bag off the counter and gets out of dodge. Cas puts his paper down and I brace myself, preparing to run if need be; he slowly approaches me like you have to approach a fly. You gotta go slow with those things then just strike at the last second; or they're gone and buzzing in your ear all night.

"Your ass must not be sore enough, Baby."

Oh it's sore all right. I can't fudging sit down, I really don't want another spanking. "Now Cassy, I'm not trying to be disrespectful, I'm just trying to get things done. Don't you have to go to work?"

"This year you've got more responsibility than usual."

He's only said that like a gazillion times.

"I know, but I can get it done." Which I've already said a gazillion times.

"I know you can."

He takes another step closer; I take a step back. "I promised you I'd ask for help if I needed it, but really, I've got it all under control. Don’t you trust me?"

"Not when you get like this."

"I'll call Dal. How's that?" I originally didn't want to bother Dal, since he's got his show on Friday night to prepare for. I did ask some of our friends, but they're all busy and there's just no fudging way I'm having this thing catered. Not for our church. It should be good, home-style, country cooking. I could really use a crew of Colts.

Cas thinks about it. "Okay. If you call Dallas I'll relax. What about the other people making things for this? They can't help you out?"

"That wouldn't be fair Cas. Each of them has already been assigned their task. They don't ask me for extra help when it's their turn to host the meal."

"They probably get it catered," he mumbles, but I hear him.

"Have you got something to say Castiel Grace?"

"Nu-uh. No, ma'am," he denies. "But you'll call Dallas, at least?"

"I already said I would."

He nods and thankfully doesn't add a 'when' I need to call Dally by.

Thinking that concludes our conversation, which is as close to an argument as Cas and I get, I relax and let down my guard; he pounces; I run.

"Samuel. Get back here now."

Just because I agree I likely deserve a spanking for my behavior, doesn't mean I want it. He's already given me two and believe me when I say neither were pleasant. "I'm going to call Dally, I swear Cassy," I say diving over the couch and using it as protection from my husband. "Shouldn't you be getting to work?" I remind him in case he forgot.

"I have time enough for this. Come here please," he says still calm and cool. Cas has gotten really good at that over the years.

"Cas, please. I don't want another spanking. I'll behave."

"That's not for you to decide." He just glowers at me until I cave. I reluctantly make my way out from behind the couch, he doesn't waste any time divesting me of my jeans and boxers and I'm over his lap. "Wow. This is red Sam. Brace yourself."

He isn't gentle when he lays down at least two dozen firm swats on my already sore bottom, then begins rubbing smoothly over some of the raised welts there. "I have no illusions that this will stop any of your nonsense, but I hope it will remind you who is in charge in our home. You'd better call your brother, or I have a lap cane with your name on it."

"Yes, sir."

He's still rubbing and I can feel his hardness beneath me. "This looks hot, Sam. Fuck. I want to fuck you Baby.”

My cock is just as hard as his most likely is right now. It must be really red back there for him to feel he has to ask. "Please, Cassy."

We suddenly become frenzied. I can't get his clothes off fast enough and he can't get far enough inside my mouth with his tongue. We're rough. The tension of the past few days has been building, a lot's happened and we've been dealing with it, but we've also been bickering, (for us) and we've got pent up energy to cast off. I've got his pants off, he's still in his white dress shirt and tie. I've stepped out of my jeans and boxers long ago, he slams me into the wall; I let him.

Cas is powerful. He's shown that many times over, but I'm still bigger. If I wanted to, I could have him laid out flat, but I don't. I want him to own me, possess me; fuck my red hot ass.

He grabs my leg and puts it around him, kissing me, bruising my lips, he slams me into the wall again. With my leg wrapped how it is, he can spin me. He kicks my other foot out from under me and takes me to the floor judo style. He brings my arms up overhead, holds them there and shoves his cock into my mouth. I suck. And suck. And swirl my tongue around the head. And suck.

I can feel him come close, but then he pulls away. He doesn't ask, instead he manhandles me, flipping me over and lands a decent smack on my poor ass. "Fuck, Cassy."

"That's what I want to hear, Baby." Seemingly from nowhere, he's got lube and before long his cock is inside of me. His thrusts are hard and his balls slap, heavy at my ass just enough to play with the raw skin there and send an excited tingle to my groin. I'm moaning and writhing on his cock. I'll say fuck as many times as he wants so long as he keeps brushing his cock over my prostate like that.

"Fuck, please Cas."

My muscles clench then I explode, my cock spewing all over the carpet, while Cas goes off inside of me. He slumps over top of my back, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into a spoon, his cock still inside of me. He's panting when he says, "the only good that has come from that damn fundraiser this year is the crazy sex."

"We always have crazy sex."

"Not like that, that was…wow. Least I know I can look forward to that all week. I remember well the last time we hosted and this time is much worse."

"I don't think I can take anymore spankings—I'll behave Cassy."

"I know you'd really like to, but this is a losing battle. When a Colt gets it in his head to have a party—"

"It's not my party. I'm head of the committee and it was my turn to host, I couldn't say, no Cas."

"Like I said. At least we'll have lots of sex like that."

"I really am sorry, Cas. I don't mean to be so stubborn."

"Least we know our son comes by it honestly."

"I think he really likes, Brad, Cas," I say changing the subject. "I'm not sure what to think about it."

"Teenagers are fickle Baby. They're in love one minute and not the next."

"I know, but we weren't. Dean's a lot like us. Someone's going to get hurt."

"Probably, but I think that's part of being a teenager too. As long as it's not angels and demons, god Sam, I can nurse Dean through a broken heart, but…"

But there's not much we can do about angels and demons. "I think Michael's working on something, Cas. He didn't say, I don't think he can, but he's just as worried as we are."

"I don't want him to be a Hunter again, Sam. I, I don't know if I can give my blessing. I know I promised him I would when he turned twenty-one, but now that we're almost there…I think about it everyday."

"We've got a bit of time, Cassy. You know as well as I do he's not going to pass the evaluation, they're not going to let him be eighteen."

"I think Dean's going to be pissed about that."

"I think he'll be fine, so long as he gets to graduate with Hannah."

"I know Baby, but he's on the border. If it were just the doctor saying no, he'd be fine with that, but you know the doctor's going to ask us, which means me and I'm going to have to tell him the truth. If I say no Dean will—"

"Dean will know you're doing what's best for him. Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Cowboy. The school already agreed he's kept up enough to move onto the next grade. Our baby boy's got straight A's this term Cas."

Cas smiles. "Okay, okay. I'm worrying too much as usual."

"S'okay, Cassy. It's just because you love us so much."

"I was talking about Dean. I'm worried the exact right amount about you."

I disagree, but I don't say so.

"You know, Baby, I don't really have anything at work I have to do 'till eleven. We could?" he says toying with my cock.

And we do; two more times.


I make the mistake of screeching that we're home across the house. Papa's supposed to be at work, but apparently he came home early to keep an eye on Daddy. "Dean," Papa says. "Send Bradley to the kitchen, I'd like to speak with you please."

Fuck. He's in the living room. "Uh, meet you there?" I say checking he knows the way.

He smiles knowing I'm likely about to get scolded. "See you there, Sugar." He gives me a peck on the cheek.

I enter the living room and Papa pauses the movie he's watching. It was only one of my names, so I'm not too worried, but I begin with an apology. "Sorry for screeching, Papa."

"Ah. So you do understand English. We don't live in a barn."

"Does that mean I can screech in a barn?"


"Sorry, Papa. I won't do it again."

"I'd believe you if this wasn't the seventeenth time I've told you, but that's not the only reason I called you in here. I need to ask you a favor."

Oh here we go. "You want me to keep an eye on Daddy," I say. It's not a question.

"Just, see if you can get him to let more people help."

"He's willing to Papa, but everyone's busy."

He stares at me until I get his meaning. He wants me to convince Daddy to get it catered.

"Aw, Papa. That's suicide! You want to lose your only son?"

"If it comes from me he'll cry, I'm incapable of not just telling him the way it's going to be. You two are alike. You can coax him better than I can."

"It's a bad idea, Papa."

"Him driving himself insane over this is a bad idea," he says sounding kinda pissed.

Whoa, he's not a happy camper. "I'll do my best Papa."

"See that you do."

Why do I have a bad feeling this is going to end bad for the one Dean Winchester?

I head into the kitchen where Brad is making small talk with Daddy. He's new, so he's safe, I try to sneak over to my apron so I can get started. I mean he'll see me eventually, but if he sees me working it's a whole lot better. "Dean," he says sharply, I wince. "Quit lollygagging and get to work, Sur. We've been waitin' on you in here."

Crap. Daddy's accent's back. That's not always a good thing. I don't tell him Papa wanted to see me. Either I'll have to explain why, or he'll assume I was in trouble and apparently I can't lie my way out of situations with him; I'd rather not have to rat Papa out.

I go with a simple, "yes, sir," and start rinsing out the jars Daddy has laid out. He's already got water boiling with some jars on the go inside the big pot.

"It'd be real helpful, Bradley if you'd bring those two boxes of pickled beans out to the truck in the driveway," he says, still in Colt-range and I don't like the sound of what he's asked Brad to do—that means we'll be alone.

Soon as he's carting boxes away, he rounds on me. "Hi, Daddy," I say as charming as I can and I finally get a good look at him. Papa's right, he's stressing over this way too much, there are fucking dark circles around his eyes; he looks frazzled.

"Dean, baby, I need your help. Your father's driving me up the wall."

Aw, fuck.

I laugh at him with my 'and just want do you expect me to do about it laugh,' until I realize he's serious. "Daddy, I thought you loved me. You want to lose your only son?" I try my line again.

"Don't be such a drama queen. Papa won't murder you. In fact, you get away with murder around here."

"Um, I was getting spanked just two days ago."

"You want to compare?" he says clearly knowing he's probably got the redder ass and all I can think is that I am not having this conversation with my daddy. I'll do anything to get out of this conversation.

"No, sir. Uh-uh. What you need me to do?"

"Just, you know casually work into a conversation that he's being unusually overbearing."

"He's not being that overbearing, Daddy, maybe you should—"

"Are you taking his side?" he says hurt.

"Um, I mean, overbearing, got that. Anything else?"

"I suppose that word is a little harsh. Maybe say overprotective and assure him we've got everything under control."

"Yes, Daddy."

Thank God Brad comes back after that. "Anymore boxes Mr. Winchester?"

"Not yet, but Dean'll show you how to pickle the beans, it's real easy. I've got to go over this list for the food."

"Here babe," I say handing him a spare apron, giddy at the thought of him putting it on. "Don't want to get that nice shirt full of brine."

"I could just take my shirt off, Sugar," he teases, but he puts the apron on and holy fuck I like it.

"You look hot in an apron. Maybe you can be my housewife," I say without thinking following our line of make believe house we apparently play sometimes.

He pulls me to him and pushes my hair back off my forehead, planting a kiss there. I smile stupidly.

"Hey, you two. Less googly eyes and more pickling," Daddy says and I fucking blush. I kinda forgot he was there.

"Sorry, Daddy," I say as we both burst out laughing. "Okay, jarring," I begin. I put Brad in charge of boiling the jars. Daddy's got everything laid out for us, he must have been at this all day already, no wonder Papa's worried about him. As Brad fishes hot, sterilized jars out of the boiling water, I fill them with beans, brine, garlic, chili pepper flakes, fresh dill and peppercorns. Next the lids go on and I pass them back to Brad so he can put them back in the boiling water. We work quickly, so I can get all the jars filled and in the water fast enough that the first jar hasn't been in there too long. When that's done, we set the timer for ten minutes and work on the next pot of jars Daddy already has boiling.

Once our system becomes a bit mindless, we start chit-chatting and goofing around a bit, getting scolded by Daddy ever time he comes back in the room since he's been in and out working on his list and making phone calls. "If I end up with soggy beans Dean Daniel Jonathan…"

This pickling has turned into a thankless job, but at least I've got Brad here to make it fun. Every time I get scolded by Daddy, we burst out in giggles when he leaves the room. Brad laughs especially hard when I mimic him.

On one of his passes back to the kitchen, I chance to ask him, "hey maybe Uncle Dal can help us Saturday and Sunday?"

I get a glare for my troubles. "Your uncle Dally is busy, he doesn't need us pestering him, but I'll mention it. You just do as you're told Dean Daniel and stay out of it."

Whoa. Except I am doing what I was told by Papa. But can't tell him that, so I shut up and don't point out that I thought he wanted me 'into it' too, since he asked me to talk to Papa. It doesn't take a genius to figure out Papa's probably asked him to call Dal, or something along the lines of that, he agreed even though he didn't want to and now he's trying to figure out how to get everything done faster, so he can say he didn't need him.

"Yes, sir. How many jars we got left?"

"I did quite a few today, so I dunno…six hundred?"

"Six hundred? Daddy, our garden doesn't even grow that many beans."

"I've got more coming, I ordered them today."

Jesus Christ. Daddy has lost it. I'll bet dollars to doughnuts Papa doesn't know about this. "We've never done that many, Daddy."

"This is going to be the biggest fundraiser yet," he smiles and I can't turn down that fucking smile, but I have to say it.

"It's already pretty big."

"You're staring to sound like your papa."

Man is he fucking touchy. I leave it at that, before I get in trouble. When he's out of the kitchen again, Brad laughs at me again. "Whoa, he's a wild horse."

"Fucking tell me about it," I say quietly so Daddy doesn't hear me swearing. That's all I need. "Didn't I tell you?"

"What's the problem, sweets? Maybe I can help."

"I doubt it. Unless you happen to have a crew of Colts in your back pocket?"

"A what?"

I laugh and fill him in, in more detail with what's been going on with the fundraiser and consequently what each of my parents have asked of me.

"Why didn't he start all of this earlier if he was planning to do so much?"

"I don't think he was. This is a Colt phenomenon. I think he came up with a million jars of beans and whatever else he's got on that list recently."

Brad shakes his head. "I hate to say it, but you're screwed, baby."

I slap his large shoulder. "Ass."

He laughs hard. "Leave it with me, maybe I'll come up with something."

"Catch your own pass and score a touchdown?" I tease.

"You makin' fun 'a my football analogies?" He grabs me and pulls me to his broad chest backwards and starts fucking tickling me.

"Babe…babe…babe stop…" Fuck. So embarrassing, I'm so fucking ticklish. I'm about to beg for mercy, but I don't need to; Brad freezes. Did Daddy just walk back in? I turn around and, fucking fuck it's not Daddy…how much did he see? I pull away from Brad like we were just doing something naughty.

"Michael? What are you doing here? You knew we—"

"I knew you had a date with football boy. I allowed it, remember? I'm not here to see you anyway, but I thought I'd say, hi." Michael's arm, the one he was favoring through dinner on Sunday night is in a nylon sling. I decide to leave that for that moment, but of course I'm fucking worried about him; I'm slightly more pissed at the moment, since the rest of him appears good as new, he's just…tired looking.

"You can't see me 'till Friday, but figures you've got a date with Papa." I pause my Michael scolding to hand Brad the tongs and without words, he knows it's time to take the jars out according to our well devised system.

Michael's glaring at us in our aprons. "Well, isn't this the sight of domestication? When should I expect an invite to the wedding?"

"Okay Michael, enough. Babe, you mind taking over a minute?"

"No problem, Sugar," he says then he fucking kisses me on the lips, right in front of Michael, staking his own claim on me. And I'm officially the prize in a fucking male pissing contest.

Which I gotta admit, is kinda fun, I just don't feel like having to explain to my daddy why there's blood all over his kitchen, especially with the mood he's in, so I drag Michael out the sliding kitchen door and around the side of the house pretty quick. "What the fuck Michael?"

Even with one arm, he's still able to push me into the wall, his lips are on me, where Brad's just were, and he's kissing the life out of me. I can't even fucking help myself; I kiss him back like my life depends on it, like I can't get enough of him; there never seems to be enough Michael. But this just isn't right for so many reasons; at the top of that list being I'm technically on a date with Brad. Michael's fucking date crashing.

When he's done with me and I'm boneless; reminded thoroughly why I've agreed to fucking follow rules he makes for me, he releases me smiling smugly. He owns me, he knows I know it. I'm panting.

"Babe?" he says a bit disgusted. "We've been together how long and I've never been given a nickname. In fact, you had more nicknames for me when we weren't together."

"So we're 'together' now? I thought you weren't into labeling?"

"You know what I mean."

I'm not getting into that right now. "Do you need a nickname that badly?"

"Well don't trouble yourself for lil' ol' me."

"Right now, the name asshole is coming to mind. What happened to your arm?"

"This is a result from the other night. If I'd have been a human, I would have lost this arm, but as is, it will just take a little longer to heal. I'll be good as new for Friday. I'm sure your ass will need a good tanning by then."

Fuck him. He knows how much that turns me on, but I try not to let it show and just shake my head at him. "You should go have your meeting with my father. I'm with Brad today; remember what you said about it being my fault if I stopped by and you were with someone? Same goes for you. I know you don't like him."

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I like Brad fine."


"Matter of fact, rumor has it you and Sam could use some help. I think I should offer my assistance. Spend some time with my good friend, Brad."

"What can you do with one hand Michael?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Go home, Michael. I'll see you Friday."

I don't mean that in a harsh way, but he takes great offence to it. I've pissed him off. "I'll stay as long as I want. I've just as much right to be here as you do, I was at the Winchester induction ceremony, not to mention I've spent the better half of my existence here. Go play with your boyfriend. I'll be back after I talk with Papa Winchester."

"Fuck. Michael!"

But he's already storming into the house. Brad glares at him as Michael walks by doing the same, Daddy walks in the door just in time for Michael to storm out of the kitchen without even a hello. Now Daddy's glaring at Michael and I'm pretty sure he's going to get told off later. Daddy's already in a bad mood.

"What's going on, Sur?"

"Why are you Suring me? I didn't do anything. He's the jerk. He showed up and now he's pissed. Apparently he has to talk to Papa."

He doesn't look satisfied with that explanation, though I don’t understand why; it's the fucking truth. "You and I will be talking later. For now, why don't you two go have your dinner break?" he suggests probably wanting to talk to Michael alone. Hopefully he'll evict him. "You've got lots done."

I still don't see why I'm in trouble, but I'm more worried about the beans. I think I'm becoming slightly obsessed with them—mostly because I'm concerned about Daddy if we don't get them done. "But we've got like six millions more, Daddy. We're never going to get this done. I think we should eat here."

"We've got plenty of time, Dean Bean. We've got the rest of tonight and tomorrow, and Friday."

Fucking Friday. I might have to tell Michael to come here. Our fuck-a-thon might be cancelled. "Okay, Daddy if you're sure." But I do see what Papa means. Daddy has gone to a crazy place. I mean seven hundred jars of beans? We don't need seven hundred jars of beans. I know he's already got twenty pre-baked pies and two hundred unbaked frozen pies stored the Lord knows where, 'cause we don't have that much freezer space.

I'm glad to get out of here and I know Brad is too.


"I apologize for my earlier behavior, sir. I was rude to you and it was uncalled for," Michael wisely begins with an apology when he returns from speaking with Cas.

"Thank-you. But what exactly are you doing here, Sur? If you're just here to 'cause trouble…"

"I had to see him. This has been the first opportunity I've had—Father's kept me busy, I really thought it wouldn't be 'till Friday, but then I came up with this spare little chunk of time. In came in pretty handy that Papa Winchester has been wanting to speak with me. I didn't think it would be such a big deal seeing Dean with…him."

I can't imagine him doing anything in his state.

"Don't look at me like that. It wasn't anything major. Mostly him just making sure I'm still going to be his obedient, devoted, little boy after this most recent beating. He bought me a Ducati to make amends," he says disgusted. "Though I think Dean's going to love it."

"Dean isn't riding on that thing."

"Well not alone. I'd be driving. There's no way I'd get into an accident, angel, remember?"

"Still no, Michael."

"All right. But you're breaking the news to him."

"Gladly. So what did happen?"

I can tell he doesn't want to say, but he does anyway. "I think the correct human term is 'jealous,' I got jealous and lost my temper. Dean was angry with me, but I was angry with him too. He kicked me out."

"You never seemed to get 'jealous' before."

"I know, but this is different. Dean likes him. A lot."

I can't argue that. "Michael, I think, I think you're right. He really likes Brad and Brad is—don’t take this the wrong way—he's good for Dean in a different way than you're good for Dean. Brad's a homegrown boy. He can give Dean normal."

"Well that's really fudging great."

I'd laugh at the angel using 'fudge' if we weren't talking about something that's probably gut wrenching for him. He's staring at the floor in front of him, completely dejected.

"He loves you more Michael, there's no doubt, but I'm starting to think Cas is right, in some ways, he's a moody teenager. I think if you piss him off, he'd rashly…"

"Rashly what?"

"Have you heard of the term 'take a break?'"

"Yes, yes. I've watched enough Dawson's Creek and other such teenage mellow dramas to know what that means."

I raise an eyebrow, 'cause, Dawson's Creek?

"Guilty pleasure."

"Well I think he'd make the rash decision to take a break if you keep showing him your jealousy. You'll push him away, since I can tell he wants this. He'd regret it immediately of course, but you know how stubborn our boy is."

He nods. "So there's nothing I can do?"

"I think there is. You need to ride this one out Michael. Trust how much Dean cares about you to win out in the end. Let him have this."

"He calls him, babe. It annoys me. It makes me want to dump Brad's body in an ocean with cement shoes."

"Okay, Don Vito Corleone. That's enough, Sur. You're supposed to be an enlightened being. It's time you act like it. Now how's your pain?"

"I'm fine, sir."

"I didn't ask if you were fine, I asked about your pain."

"There's nothing you can do about it."

"You know that's not true."

"I'm almost completely out of pain, it's just this arm. It's just the tiredness that's the real problem I can't seem to get rid of."

"Maybe take a break on the sex."

"You know I can't do that."

"What's going on with that arm? It didn't seem so bad the other night. I noticed you favoring it, but it didn't seem this immobile."

"It recently became, dislocated then almost torn off. I called your witch doctor and this was the best he could come up with."

"What? Michael!"

"Don't worry, I wasn't playing kinky sex games. It was, the usual. He's still quite angry. He bounces between extremes of guilt, bribing me with gifts and bursts of anger. I'm trying to collect 'brownie points,' as Dean usually calls them."

Gotta say; wish it were some kinky sex game. My fists are balled—I hate that there's nothing I can fudging do. I've also never heard of Lucifer being this mad. It must have been some object that was lost.

"You don't need to worry about me, sir."

"Of course I'm worried about you."

"I think you should worry about how you're going to get all of these beans pickled. I don't think your husband is going to let you stay up all night."

"Not helpful, Michael."

"Whoa. Touchy. Okay, not my business anyway, but you do remember you've not got an army of Colts—"

"Okay, that's enough. Let's get you out of that. I want to take a look at you before the boys get back and you're not going to be here when they do."

"Are you kicking me out too?"

"No one's kicking you out. This is your home too. I'm sending you back to your loft to rest and making sure you don't do something stupid. You're in one of those moods."

"You're one to talk," he mutters.

"Excuse me?"

"Uh nothing, sir. Sir?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"You don't have to do this now. You've got, other things to tend to."

Silly angel, when will he learn? "I've got plenty of time to take care of you Michael."

We work him out of the sling and I can see it's painful. When his shirt is off, I look over the poultice Dr. Shaggy's put on him.

"Still looks good. I think we can leave it. Get Tom to change it tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

"The scars look good. Should be gone Friday, but I'll rub some aloe on."

"Thank you Mr. Winchester. Sir?"

"Yes, Michael."

"Are you going to need Dean Friday?"

"Thanks for asking, Sugar, and I was thinking about it, but I've monopolized enough of Dean's time and he's helping me all day Saturday too." Not to mention I've been a real grouch-o, and he's put up with my sour mood.

He sags relieved. I've learned how much the angel needs Dean. I'm sure he could have talked with Cas on the phone. Cas does prefer to have important conversations in person, but Michael's not well, he wouldn't make Michael come here as he is.

I spend some time soothing the tense creature, but I think about Cas. If I were doing this to any other 'man,' Cas would have a fit, but he's quite clear inside about what Michael means to me. He's another one of my large brood. My other little boy.

When I'm done, I help him back into his clothes, then the sling.

"Thanks Sam," he says. "You know, Dr. Shaggy has the impression I'm your…that you're my…"

"Daddy?" I provide since he's having such a hard time saying it. It's not the first time that mistake has been made. Often when we were all at the park together when Dean was younger, people assumed both boys were mine. They were mistaken for brothers a lot.

He's blushing furiously right now; it's kind of fun. I seem to have the magic power, of making the surly angel blush.

"Yeah. I didn't…I didn't correct him." He looks at his feet.

I'm not often surprised, but right now, I'm fudging surprised, and flooded with happiness. I can't help the happy tear that escapes my eye, but I wipe it away quickly, so I don't embarrass the poor guy anymore than he already is.

"Well I may, or may not have written you down as Michael Winchester on the forms I filled out for you, the first time he saw you." I'm teasing him. I've actually never filled out forms for Michael and neither has he. Dr. Shaggy's always seen him sort of unofficially. I run a hand through his dark hair and gently nudge his chin up, so he's looking at me. "You're lucky you didn't correct him, or you'd have been in big trouble, Sur."

Finally he smiles.

That's when Cas walks in. Normally I'm happy to see him, but right now I just feel like he's a pest. Every time he's around lately, he's dictating a new rule.

He pretends to look for something in the fridge and comes out with a beer, casually leaning against the counter. "Were you able to talk some sense into him Michael?"

Ah. So he had Michael up to the same thing he put Dean up to. "No. He's stubborn like your son. How many jars are there, anyway?"

"Yeah, Samuel. How many jars are there?"

"Okay. It's time for the tops to leave. My helpers will be back soon, I want to get some done before they do."

Cas grabs another beer out of the fridge. "C'mon Michael. I'll teach you something about obstinate Colts. Dean's mostly a Winchester, but he's got a string of Colt in him you've got to watch out for."

Michael looks to me to make sure it's not a trick. I nod at him. He takes the beer hesitantly from Cas with his good hand and thankfully, they walk out the sliding glass door.


"So, uh, I'm sorry about, Michael."

"It's okay, Sugar.

"I'm also sorry everyone's so grouchy. We'll all be back to normal after Sunday." Least I fucking hope so. "So where we going?"

"There's this little Italian restaurant my parents take my brothers and me to sometimes. It's casual and quick. I knew you'd want to get back to your daddy."

For a football jock, Brad is extremely thoughtful.

"I've been nothing but trouble for you, I don't get why you bother with me," I say shaking my head.

"'Cause I love you Dean." When he says it, it's so fucking simple, just a fact. So…easy.

I don't say anything back and he doesn't expect me to, which just makes me feel even worse. He's so frigging understanding.

When we get to the restaurant, he's ever the gentleman, running around to my side and helping me down from the truck. He's already made it amply clear he knows I'm not an invalid, he's just trying to be gentlemanly.

We're at the table, we've ordered and we're just waiting. This feels a lot more intimate than before; I feel like a grown-up; I'm on a fucking date. What Brad and I did before was a date too, but right now there are no other kids around (more typical of teenage 'dating,') it's just the two of us.

"I meant what I said earlier Dean. I've had my eye on you a long time," he says, blue eyes sparkling.

"I know. You didn't exactly make it secret."

He smiles. "I used to beg my mama to hurry up, so we could get to church faster so I could get a seat behind you when I was little. I made a game of spying on you around the club."

Brad started off younger than me, but he caught up. Everybody does.

"So it doesn't bother you? That I've lived before? A whole other life."

"Not in the least. I don't know why it would bother anyone, it's exciting. I wish you could tell me about your other life."

"I wish I could to. The details are pretty foggy." I'm not lying completely. The details are hazy, but that doesn't meant I don't see some things pretty fucking clearly. I just can't tell him that shit.

"Does it bother people that you're a Moddler?"

"On occasion, but not really for the most part. The way my parents structured things, I didn't really have to tell too many people." It's only really come up with my various hockey teams and school teachers. In school, the other kids would move on and sometimes I was kept behind, or pulled out of school for a year or two. By then, they'd kinda forgotten about me. Sure they knew who I was, but they usually seemed to take on a protective older brother or older sister stance. I may have shied away from making too many friends, something Daddy always comments he thinks is from my other life, but people always seem to like me and want to make friends with me.

Brad's holding my hand across the table, we're really sappy.

"Can I ask you a question? It's kinda personal though," I warn him.

"You can ask me anything you want Dean."

"You said your parents have a domestic discipline relationship, kinda like my parents," I begin. Even that gives Brad brownie points with me. Of course I know other kids with parents like mine, my parents made sure of it, but no one at my school—least not anyone I know of. "but you haven't…"

"Threatened to spank you?" he finishes for me, blue eyes sparkling.

I don't know why I'm shy around him over this shit. It's not like I'm shy around anyone else. My cheeks are cherry red. "Yeah."

"Believe me, I've wanted to, but I'm pretty sure it's not my place."

Huh. I'm not sure either. Would Michael care? "But you would if we were married?"

He doesn't have to answer me in words, I can see the 'are you really asking me that?' in his eyes.

"Okay, okay. I admit I'm very spankable, but I…" I can't even believe I'm about to say this, but I'm a curious fucking cat. "I'd kinda like to know when you think I need a spanking, even if you can't spank me."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah. It's a huge turn on for me."

"Okay, but just remember, you asked."
We leave it at that. The food is fucking fantastic. I pay him back for the cock-sucking earlier, with my own version of not-sex and we head back to help Daddy.


It's much later. We came back to the house and helped Daddy 'till Papa shut down our pickling operation. Daddy wasn't pleased and he looked fucking worried, but he obeyed Papa knowing exactly how far he can push him and since he's been stepping over that line a ton lately, thankfully, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

When we're all cleaned up, Brad tells me he's got to go before he's in trouble too and fuck, I don't want him to go, but I walk him to the door and to his truck; he gives me a helluva kiss good night. "Brad, wait!" I say before he climbs up to the driver's side of his truck. "Pick me up for school tomorrow?"

He smiles his dreamy Brad smile. "Of course."

Chapter Text


I wake up Thursday with a terrible feeling in the pit of my gut. Today is just not going to go well, is it? I have no reason to fucking think that, but it's there with me when I'm showering, when I'm getting dressed and when I check my phone before I go downstairs.

Brad's text me; he'll see me soon. Hannah's text me she's got something fucking important to talk to me about. Michael hasn't text me at fucking all. Not last night and not this morning. I was honestly too pissed about yesterday to fucking text him either, but this morning, I'm not as mad. Just irked.

Daddy does not look good when I see him. He's seriously fucking stressed. But that's not why he's upset with me. "Did you kick Michael out yesterday Dean Daniel Jonathan Winchester?"

Two and three names isn't good, but four names is Colt for fucked.

I immediately start saying things, any things that will calm him the fuck down and not result in a spanking. Yeah. Papa's not the only one who spanks me in our house, but it's far more rare for Daddy to. "Um, I wasn't trying to kick him out, Daddy. I swear. He was just here and they were fighting over me and it seemed easiest way to diffuse the situation. Besides, he wasn't supposed to be here."

Something I said worked. Daddy takes a huge breath and his whole body softens. "Okay, sweetheart. I believe you. He won't tell you, but his feelings were really hurt is all."

And holy fuck, Daddy is protective of him. It's not the first time I've seen it, just not that in-fucking-tensely. Just what the fuck happened? Maybe him being physically hurt like that scared Daddy?

"I'm sorry too, Dean Bean. I've been a stressed out maniac. It doesn't help I've got your father looking in on me every chance he gets."

"I thought you liked that Daddy?"

"I do. The other ninety-five percent of the time, but remember what I said about it being inconvenient sometimes? Now is one of those times and it's not something you get to turn off and on, that wouldn't be fair, I know. I just really, really, wish I could right now. There's still so much to do and he won't let me stay up past ten to do it."

I'm done trying to convince Daddy to do less; I feel bad for him. I understand the position he's in. "I don't have any exams today and I'm all caught up. I could stay home from school today."

"I'd actually say yes, but your father would never allow it and I'm not really in a good position to wheedle right now."

Poor Daddy. I get up and give him a hug. "We'll get it all done, I swear. I can bring Brad back with me today."

"That'd be great sweetheart, thank-you. Maybe I will call your uncle Dal."

When Papa enters the kitchen, I've long since sat down and begun eating breakfast, but he's looking us both over, like he already suspects our newly forged alliance. "Good morning trouble makers," he says and confirms what I was thinking.

"The sun's barely risen and you think we're both up to something? Jeez, Papa."

"Never dare to judge unless you've heard the other side."

In other words, he's open to my counterpoint. I haven't got one.

"It's just as I thought. I know exactly how to wrangle in two wild Colts," he tells us both in that voice of his that says he's done with nonsense. "Dean, you've got exams, in case you forgot with all this fundraiser foolishness. I want at least two hours of studying from you tonight, despite your daddy's idea that you're going to help him all afternoon and all evening. Understand?"

I know Papa would never hurt me, but it doesn't make the look he's giving me any less terrifying. "Yes, sir," I say and look at my plate, 'cause there's no way I can stare directly at those eyes for too long.

"And I'm this close, to shutting this whole operation down, Samuel," he tells Daddy, pinching his thumb and pointer finger together leaving a smidgeon of a space between them. "Tread, carefully."

Daddy must feel the same as I do because he doesn't even ball his fists when he says, "yes, sir."

Papa hasn't even raised his voice once. Winchester's don’t need to, to be heard, but lord help you if they do. Papa reminds me a lot of Grampa when he pulls out the newspaper (who even reads the newspaper anymore—he does) and drinks his coffee, while I finish my breakfast quiet as a fucking mouse.

None of us can say anything, breakfast is unusually quiet and I think Papa's taking his time on purpose, not wanting us to conspire together once he's gone.

"M-may I be excused, Father?" I say when I'm finally finished. Brad will be here soon, I'll just wait out-fucking-side for him rather than stay another minute in this mortuary.

He brings his eyes down from his newspaper to study me closely. "You remember we are scheduled to re-evaluate your curfew in one week's time?"

We are? Oh right. He said before Daddy and I head to Texas we'd talk about it. "I remember, sir."

"Good. Behave yourself. You may go."

When Brad pulls up, I'm so fucking glad to see him. I decide my chances of Brad feeling sorry for me are high. "Hey, babe. It's good to see you," I say and kiss him before we pull away. He starts driving us to school.

"Still a war zone in there?"

"Yeah and fuck, somehow Papa just knew Daddy and I joined forces. He's so good. I hope my future husband never gets that good at fucking figuring me out," I say and wish I fucking hadn't.

"You do, do you?" he says with the eyes to go along with that statement. Oh right. He thinks he's going to be my husband. It was really only meant for a laugh, because I'm never going to have a husband—we all know why by this point, I'm not even going to say it.

I do realize I should backpedal, I turn on the Dean charm. "I'm only kidding, babe. I'm sure you'll figure me out plenty."

And holy shit. That doesn't fucking budge him. "I'd argue I know y'all pretty well by now. We may have only recently started dating, but I've know you my whole life. I haven't said much, because I've been real respectful knowing I'm the underdog team in comparison to your college boyfriend. I think you underestimate me."

Holy fuck am I turned on right now. "Ye-yeah?" I swallow hard hoping I can swallow something else hard.

"You Dean Winchester are a brat, through and through. If you don't mind me sayin', I think there's too much goin' on and no one's been payin' enough attention to you. If I could, I'd spank you right now," he says with a thicker accent than usual.

"Y-you would? On what grounds?"

"You just need it. It would calm you in all the chaos, baby. And I don't think anyone's noticed yet, just how wrapped up you are with your daddy—not even you. Your father's right to keep a close eye on you both, considerin' the circumstances."

I can hardly breathe. He squeezes my hand. "Does that pretty much sum it up, Cowboy?"

I nod. He's right about everything. All of it. A fucking tear escapes my eye; I wipe at it with my free hand. "Don't cry, Sugar. Everything's gonna be all right. I promise. Do you trust me?"

Fuck. I think I really do. "Yeah. I trust you."

"Okay. Stop worrying. I'll take care of everything. That's exactly why you'll marry me one day, because even if it takes forever, I'll die trying."


I listen to Brad. I stop worrying based on his word alone. Our lunch together has become fairly standard, except now we're the make-out kings, outdoing Hannah and whoever she's latched onto today. She's as promiscuous as I am, or I guess, how I used to be. I haven't been with anyone other than Michael since…has it been a full week? Almost. That's a record for me and actually, I haven't even been with Michael. Holy shit folks, Dean Winchester's spend an entire week almost monogamously (we'll consider the Michael kiss like a free-bee for me.) You know? Like a smoker on the patch.

We're outside in the football stands, eating lunch with everyone and my dick is seriously hard. "I wish you could fuck me right now, babe," I say in his ear so his team can't hear.

"Dean Winchester," he scolds in my ear. "Did you just ask me to have sex with you again?"

I'm not sure whether I should say yes or no. I mean, of course it is yes, and maybe four days ago, I would have said something along the lines of 'should we take this underneath?' but after that conversation this morning, I'm getting a don't fuck with him vibe. I decide to try my family's little way of diffusing a situation like this one. "Nuh-uh. No, sir." I fucking smile against his ear.

"Good. Because that's definitely an instance where I'd spank you, since you said you were wondering. I meant what I said about our wedding night."

Shit. I'm going to lose this fucking bet, aren't I?

"What's in a chastity vow anyway?"


"Okay. Okay. I hear you." I'm going to have to come at this from a different angle. It's much easier to convince someone in the heat of the moment.

I continue to make out with him though, despite all the heckling we endure.

Hannah looks anxious to talk to me, but every time I give her my 'what the fuck is up?' eyes, she shakes her head and mouths 'later.' Later never comes.

I completely forget to ask Brad to come over 'till it's time to go home, but he has to turn me down. He's got to go out for his brother's birthday with his family and can't skip it. "I'm so sorry, baby. But I promise, everything's taken care of."

The news is unnaturally heartbreaking to me. Fuck. I think I'm going to…I think I'm going to cry. It's too early for that, isn't it? 'Specially since it's technically twice today already. What the fuck is wrong with me?

"C'mere, Sugar." He pulls me to him from the driver's side and rubs my back. He feels strong and confident and some of it rubs the fuck off on me.

"I think I'm okay, babe. Sorry for all the…" Fuck I feel like an idiot.

"I hope I'm making myself clear—that's why I'm here. I'd be there in a heartbeat tonight if I could."

I wipe my eyes. "I know. Fuck. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing and go in there and kick some pickling ass, okay?" Brad almost never says things like 'ass,' he must really be trying to cheer me up. I do appreciate his sports like pep talk.

I begin walking toward the house as he drives off and Michael comes to mind again. I sat in class thinking about him, while I waited for the teacher to finish up with his or her boring ass end of the year lectures. There really isn't much going on at school, they should just have finals and be done with it.

So I spent my non-Brad time thinking about him. Daddy said his feelings were hurt. I mean, Daddy's said that before, but does Michael really get hurt feelings? I'm not sure.

I make a U-turn, hoping Daddy hasn't seen me yet and toward the Impala. I'll drop by his loft, really quick. Just a quick 'I'm sorry and let's fuck to make it up,' and I'll be pickling beans 'till midnight. Besides, he said he was calling Uncle Dal. Dally's good at beans. He can do that, while Daddy does other stuff. They don't really need me that badly.

Tom looks surprised to see me, which is fucking bizarre. It's not like I haven't been dropping by on a frequent basis since forever. "Um, Mr. Winchester, sir. Maybe you'd like to come back at a time more convenient?"

"Now's pretty fucking convenient for me."

He winces. I quickly find out why.

I hear Michael's laugh followed by another low, husky laugh and my heart fucking sinks. I don't know why it does. It's not like I don't know, 'cause of course I know. It's the one thing I carry around with me constantly. Even when I'm not actually thinking about it, it's in the fucking background like fucking safari on an iPhone, using up all my battery life.

Not talking about it like we used to has actually made it worse. 'Cause even though I know, not seeing it makes it like it's not real and I stupidly did feel like Michael's one and only even though I wasn't being his one and only. But the fucking realness of it crashes down around me.

I…I can't. I'm fucking leaving. But I'm not fast enough and the door to his bedroom slides open and he's kissing him goodbye, via licking him all down his neck. I watch like you do a train wreck; I want to tear my eyes away, but I can't stop fucking looking. He's laughing, having fun with fuckface, arm still in his fucking sling, but of course, beautiful as hell.

He's naked, but thankfully fuckface isn't. Guess he was just leaving. Finally he sees me. "Dean?"

"Oh, hello. You must be Michael's younger brother." Fuckface says. "I'm Tim."

"Time for you to fucking leave, Tim," I say.

He looks at Michael, Michael shrugs, turns and walks back into the bedroom. I should leave with Tim, but I don't. I make sure he fucking leaves (I think he's figured out Michael and I aren't brothers) and prey on Michael, stalking into his bedroom. He's still naked, laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"It's starting to feel like fucking groundhog day, but to quote you from yesterday—" he begins.

"Spare me. I know. I fucking know, okay." He won't even look at me. "Is this payback for yesterday?"

"How could it be? I didn’t even know you were coming by."

True. With nothing left to say, because what can I say? This is us, forever…I start fucking crying. It's like, the day of fucking crying. But this isn't like earlier with Brad, it's gut-racking sobs and they hurt.

Since I'm kind of fucking frozen, he has to come get me. I feel a tug on my arm and I follow. He pulls me down on the bed with him; I curl around his naked body and cry into his chest. His hand brushes through my hair over and over and he's humming something familiar, I can't quite place.

Eventually, I finish my stupid sob fest, because that's all it is, stupid, I know how it goes; I think I'm just on edge this week. This isn't something I freak about at this level anymore. I don't like it, but I'm dealing with, better than this. I swear I am. When the cry-haze clears I know the fucking song he's humming. "Is that the," sniff, "Winne-the-Pooh theme song?" I laugh. Only Michael can have me fucking laughing so easily after a cry session like that.

"Yes," sniff.

Sniff? "Michael are you crying?"

"Angels don't cry."

I pull away. His eyes are almost as wet as fucking mine. "One does."

"You weren’t supposed to be here," he changes the subject.

"I know. It was my dumbass maneuver." Daddy did say I should make a rule. "Maybe we should have a call first policy?"

"Huh. Call first? This seems like something we should have thought up sooner."

"Can we blame us? You've only been stopping by the house unannounced since I was fucking two. It's kinda a foreign concept to us."

"Exactly. I don't think we should feel bad. No sense in beating ourselves up over it." He smiles. "You okay now, my little duck?"

"I'm fine. Things at the house are just intense."

"Don't I know it. Daddy Winchester was not pleased with me."

"Ha. You and me both."

We both fucking laugh.

I push up and away, but he pulls me back to him. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I should get back. I was supposed to go straight home to help Daddy and Uncle Dal, I only came here to quickly apologize for yesterday."

"Let's just consider ourselves even. How's that?"

"Fine with me."

"And what do you mean your uncle Dal's helping?"

"Daddy was going to call him."

"Even if he did, we all remember he has a concert tomorrow night, yes? He'll be busy with that."

I did think it was a bit late in the game for Uncle Dal, but I wasn't really thinking far beyond beans. "Fuck. I really shouldn't have come here. I gotta go." Now I'm feeling the stress of the fucking pickled beans. Michael looks at me a bit like Papa would.

"Is Papa Winchester home?"

"Probably. He chewed us both out this morning. He's convinced we've gone Colt on him and is keeping a close eye on the both of us."

"Have you?"

"Have we what?"

"Gone Colt?"

"There's not even any such thing."

"Yes there is, I've seen this before, even the fact you're talking in 'we's.' Fuck. I can't even come with you. I have dinner at Father's."

"I can't believe he's still doing the whole 'dinner' thing. You barely eat and I'm sure your father doesn't at all. What kind of dinner could it be?"

"I told you. He's certain it's what families do. He wants me to be his family, so he hosts these dinners. He knows I eat a little."

"I think I'm almost willing to sell my left nut to attend one of these 'dinners.'"

He spanks my ass, hard for that with this good hand. "Ow! I was only joking and I said 'almost.'"

"No. Don't even joke about that."

"Okay. Jesus."

"I don't want you pickling anymore beans tonight. Whatever your daddy gets done, he gets done. He doesn't need a thousand jars of beans or whatever ridiculous number he thinks he's jarring. Papa Winchester should stop him too."

My mouth opens then closes. I glare at him.

"Glare at me all you want. You're going to the crazy place with him, I can see it in your eyes. I forbid it."

What is it with grouchy fucking tops today? "This is Daddy, Michael. Are you insane? He'll be pissed at you."

"'Till Sunday. Then he'll see I made the right decision for you. In fact, in this, I'd rather make the decision I know Papa Winchester would approve of; if he wasn't so distracted with Sam…" he mutters the last part.

Just what do they talk about? "I don't agree Michael. I'm not making that rule."

"Who said anything about a rule? There's more than just rules. There are also decisions; decisions that I make. That you gave me permission to make."

Fuck, he has learned a thing or two from Papa. "Look, can we just talk about this? Please Michael. Can't we negotiate?"

By this point, we're both sitting up on his bed. He's still naked, I know he'd have his arms crossed if one of the wasn't in a sling. "I'm listening."

"I'll only help Daddy for as long as you say. Papa's said I have to study for a couple hours tonight anyway. I could help him for a few hours and then go study. Papa will be there the whole time. He'll make sure I don't go to the crazy place in that time."

He's looking at me skeptically. "I don't like it."

"Please, Michael. It'll kill me not being able to help him." Tears are already in my fucking eyes again and I don't mean them to be. I'm not trying to fucking manipulate him with them, I just feel all this emotional energy on the surface today.

He sighs angrily. "Fine. You may help him for a few hours and then you will go study. Agreed?"

I wipe at my tears. "Yeah. I mean yes, sir. Thank-you." I slide my arms around him, careful of his arm in the sling.

"Okay. No more crying today. I really ought to spank you, but there's simply no time. I do have to go. If it were anything other than my father, I'd make it wait. I'll take good care of you tomorrow, Duck."

I nod, because I think he's right, I probably do need spanking—even Brad said so.

"Besides, by then I should have both arms free again," he smiles delightfuly.

When I get home, thankfully Papa's nowhere to be seen, but Daddy is frantic. "Oh thank God Dean. Your uncle Dal—"

"Couldn't make it," I finish for him.

"Yeah, but he'll be here Saturday."

When Daddy fills me in on all we need to do, I decide I should try to get out of tomorrow night with Michael. This is far more important. Daddy and I work as a good team and we are getting a lot done, it's just that there's so much to be done. I get excited when Daddy tells me he thinks this year, we're going to raise the most money yet. Each jar of beans will be worth six dollars, it makes us more determined to finish our tasks.

Papa enters around the time it should be dinner, but Daddy cancelled Chef Andrew on account that he would have not kitchen space anyway, we were going to grill up some Deanwiches, but we completely forgot. Papa doesn't mind taking us out for dinner, but he sees us forgetting as a sign we are lost to the 'bean madness' and he is not impressed.

"Okay, I've had enough. How many jars have you two managed, Samuel?"

"Five hundred, total. We're almost done, Cassy."

"Correction. You are done. Pack it in, Sam. We'll make a quick dinner, then you my boy are going to study," he says to me.
But, but, we still have two hundred jars left and that's a whole twelve hundred dollars of revenue lost all because Papa's being overbearing and unreasonable. He's not giving us enough credit; Daddy and I can handle this just fine. I decide to tell him so.

"We're both adults Papa. We'll have it done by midnight, if you'd just stop being so god damned over protective." I know. I know. I know it as soon as I've said it in fact, 'cept the words are out and it's too fucking late. But it was something like what Daddy told me to say, right?

If I thought the look on Papa's face this morning was scary, the one now, I don't have words for. Saying he's mad is a fucking understatement. "Now, Cas—" Daddy tries to defend me.
"Quiet Sam. Dean, come here now, please." He's so calm and fucking cool about everything, but I still feel a shiver at his words.

"I d-didn't mean it, P-papa. I'm sorry. It just came out."

"I thank you for your apology, Dean. You're still getting a good spanking. Come here. Now."

Fuck. The Winchester policy is that if you don't want to get spanked in front of others, don't misbehave in front of others.

I fucking nervously make my way over as Papa sits down. "Stop it Dean. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Yes you are. Spanking hurts."

"You know what I mean, you'll live."

I can tell Daddy feels bad for me, but I'm pretty sure he's next anyway. I'm still wearing my school pants, since I didn't even bother changing when I got home. Knowing protocol well, I unbutton them and unzip them for Papa, he pulls everything straight down—pants, boxers, all of it and guides me over his knees.

I still feel plenty of love from him, displeased as I know he is. That just makes this whole thing worse, but good at the same time. If I didn't have that, knowing that his discipline comes from a place of love, it wouldn’t be what it is to me; it wouldn't be okay with me.

"You are not an adult, little boy," he says once I'm over his knee. He immediately starts spanking me and since I'm no longer sore from the Michael spanking, he's able to harness his full potential. The slaps ring loud through the kitchen, Papa pauses to tell Daddy to continue cleaning up.

"And even if you were, that was extremely disrespectful, and I would not allow you to speak that way to me, or your daddy," he lectures as he continues to set my ass ablaze. It hurts by this point and I'm crying, but not just from how tender my ass cheeks are getting. I feel awful for what I said. I could have been a helluva lot gentler with my language.

Papa stops for a moment. "Sam, pass me that wooden spoon over there, please."

Fuck. I hate that fucking thing. It makes me feel like a little kid, which is most likely Papa's point. I hear the dreaded drawer open and Daddy hands it to him, but goes straight back to packing up all Bean paraphernalia.

"You see this?"

I sniffle. "Y-yes, sir."

"I am in charge in this home, Mr. Winchester. The next time you talk to me like that, I'm going to use this for thirty minutes on your bare bottom. Do you understand?"

Fuck do I ever—especially after that spanking. "Yes, sir. I-I'm S-Sorry, Papa. Really."

"Thank-you, Dean." He gives me ten solid whacks with that nasty fucking spoon, so I can know what I'm in for should I ever plan on being stupid enough speak to him like that again. I swear to you, I fucking won't.

He stands me up and returns my boxers, knowing my ass will be to stingy for me to want the constrictive school pants. "Give your daddy a hug then go to your room; take care of yourself and start studying. I'll be up momentarily."

I'm more than happy to.

It never looks as bad as it feels. My ass is a little red, but nothing like that strapping from Michael. I might feel it tomorrow, but even that's questionable. I still rub aloe on it and slip into a pair of sweat pants and change into a t-shirt.

I pull out my books immediately and begin studying. I don't even pretend to study, worried Papa will somehow fucking know.

After an hour, there's a knock on my door. I know it's gotta be Papa. I tell him to enter.

I can barely look at him.

"Come here, Dean," he says with open arms. I can tell from the tone in his voice, he's still severely disappointed.

I latch onto him and yep, to keep with the theme of the fucking day, I'm crying again. How many times does that make today? It's gotta be a fucking world record or something. He rubs my back and soothes me as I repeatedly tell him how fucking sorry I am. "Okay, Dean. That's enough. You know you're forgiven."

"I know Papa, but I wish I had a fudging time machine."

He laughs and that makes me feel a whole fucking sea league better. "It's my fault. I've been distracted with your daddy and haven't kept a good enough eye on you. How long has that been building up?"

"Probably since Tuesday," I admit shamefully.

"I know it didn't help being the middle of Daddy and me, but regardless Dean, that sort of behavior won't be tolerated in this house. You know where to come when you're having trouble. We've only just had this conversation."

And Papa really doesn't like having to repeat himself. "Yes, sir. But honestly, Papa? I think this time I didn’t know myself until I was over your knee." Michael knew though and so did Brad. I don't tell him that part.

"I understand. It's the same with your daddy. Like I said, this one was on me. You still deserved and needed that spanking, but I'm not going to count this when I determine whether or not your curfew should be increased." He kisses my crown.

"Thank you, Papa." That's a huge deal and Papa's way of making up for the craziness as of late.

He sighs. "I do need your help calming your daddy down. I spanked him too, but he feels this is all his fault because he asked you to say something to me, and he can't let it go."

"He did, but he definitely didn't tell me to, um, say what I said. That one's on me."

"It most certainly is."


"Yeah, Kiddo?"

"Thank you for stopping us. Daddy was crazy, you were right from the beginning and I got crazy too."

He laughs.

"What's going to happen now?"

He sighs again, heavily. "This is a tough one. Daddy's so distraught right now, I can't tell him he's not allowed to make the food, especially when I've cancelled the rest of his beans. I'm going to help him tomorrow, and you're going to go be with Michael, far away from beans and church fundraisers."

That makes me laugh. I'm sure Daddy's going to love that. "Sounds good Papa."

After that, we head downstairs and I run to Daddy whose eyes are red from crying as he's sadly trying to make dinner. I assure Daddy that I'm not upset with him and both Papa and I help him finish making dinner. I can feel us starting to get back to normal. There's a balance in our home and when something disrupts that balance, look the fuck out. Not to worry, we are pretty good about laughing at situations like this after the fact. It all seems like a big deal right now, but we'll tease each other about it eventually; most likely by Sunday dinner.

I'm sent back to my room after dinner and I know it's for the night. I don't complain and am actually grateful for the structure. Everything feels so much less chaotic.

I'm exhausted, so after logging in an extra two hours of study time, I get ready for bed. There are a shit load of texts as is now the usual. Somehow Mark from Brad's football team got my phone number and is insistent I join them for a workout. Brad sends me his usual before bed sweet nothings that make me smile. And there's actually a text from Michael, five in fact. Of course there is though, he was fucking worried about me.

Sorry. Didn't check my phone 'till now. Shit happened. Tell you all about it tomorrow. Don't have to worry anymore. Operation Beans has been suspended indefinitely by Colonel Winchester.

I basically get an 'I told you so.' See? I was right. I make good decisions for you, petal.

Fucking petal. Maybe I should come up with something for him, but do it up Daddy-style making it freaking ridiculous. Fact: I think he's learned the whole nicknames thing from Daddy.

Two can play at this game. Goodnight my little powder puff, girl.

I am laughing my ass off. That right there is fucking funny. Comedic gold. I don't care that it doesn't make any sense.

Sweet dreams puddin' muffin.

Damn him. That one's pretty good.

Okay, sugar pastry. I'm laughing so hard, when Papa walks by, he peeks in and tells me to go to sleep, effectively ending my name-war with Michael. That's how he gets the last word in.

Go to bed, Princess Winchester, or else your prince is going to have his paddle waiting for you tomorrow.

That's fucking sweet as far as Michael goes and I can't help reading it over and over. I don't even care he's called me 'princess.' I fall asleep and do have good dreams.


It's not what it looks like. I'm his. He's not mine. I know he thinks I own him, or something else ridiculous. But it's not true.

I let him think that of course; it makes things easier for me to keep him safe. Practically gave himself to me on a platter, I wasn't going to turn it down. Now, if only I could get rid of this pesky rule that he should agree to all rules. He doesn't know what's good for him, I do.

He's holding hands with Brad the too good looking football player. Brad is what every human his age wants. I wish I could find fault with him; I'd instantly tell Dean all about it; Dean trusts me; he'd believe me; Brad would be history. I might have to make something up if he continues to be so fucking perfect.

If it were up to me, I'd blow Brad to pieces and I might still if he doesn't stop kissing him on the lips like they're doing right now. What kind of school is this? Aren't there rules about that? There should be. I should notify the principal.

If I'm so mad with hatred over Brad, why allow Dean to see him at all? I know that's what you're thinking. The answer: Because Dean wants to.

I'm not like Papa Winchester. I have a hard time not giving Dean everything he wants, even if it looks otherwise. Do you have any idea how hard it was to tell him he couldn’t go to his uncle's concert? I have a role, as Castiel continues to remind me. Dean needs me to be firm and maintain structure for him. I have to admit, it is much better when I have some modicum of control. I can relax; I'm better with Dean. When I allow him to break rules, I'm just as discomfited as he becomes.

And we fight.

The only time it's easy for me to deny him anything, is when I know it will harm him.

Dean pulls away from him when he sees me. "Michael? I thought I was meeting you at your place?"

Well don't get too excited to see me. I remember when he couldn't wait to see me; would run to me squealing and jump up so I could catch him. Mine, he'd say. I'd pretend to be annoyed, but I like being his.

"Say goodbye to your football hero."

He rolls his eyes, then leans in to fucking whisper something in Brad's ear, which they laugh at while I seethe. Brad kisses his cheek, which I don't like, but I don't mind as much as the other. The kissing of the lips thing.

But what I hate more than all of it is the way they look at each other, like a couple of love sick teenagers—which I guess they are. Dean doesn't know it yet, but he's in love with Brad. I hope he never finds out.

I am not overreacting. I know Dean. He doesn't look at just anyone that way—it's the same way he looks at me.

He takes his sweet time, but finally joins me. "That wasn't even creative," he says.

"I've got better things to do with my time than to think up insults for that simple creature."

"Jesus fucking Christ. You're a ray of sunshine." He storms over to where he sees my Jeep parked. "I guess fucking Tom drove Baby home?"

"Yes. What the hell is wrong with you? Still trouble in Winchester paradise?"

"Well there was. Like you wouldn’t fucking believe, but all that's sorted out now. You know I don’t like it when angel dicks drive Baby home."

"It's only Tom."

"To you. I don't know him. I don't let anyone other than my uncles and parents drive Baby. You're the only other exception. It doesn't help that he's an angel."

"Hopefully you'll win the bet then. How's that going for you by the way?" I ask knowing exactly how it's gone. Dean hasn't slept with him and he won't. Brad is more to Dean than just fucking; another reason for me to send Brad out to sea.

He's already biting his lip. "Don't even think about lying to me."

"No, okay? I've made zero head way, pun not intended and don't fucking give me that smug look of yours."

"What's the matter, Duck? It's not like you to give up so soon."

"Can we please just drop it?"

I give him a quick once over tallying up his body language. Hm. It's probably not the time to argue about this. "For now," I say as we climb into the Jeep. "Tell Daddy what happened last night."

"Ew. No way, Michael. I think Daddy kink is out forever for us."

But he's smiling, which is the only reason I said it. I'm quite good at making Dean laugh.

"Then you'd better tell me."

"It was just like you said," he says making sure to give me credit. "Daddy and I were at the crazy place—the Colt place. I think our heads turned into pickled beans for a while. You should have heard the telling off I got from Papa yesterday when he tried to shut us down and I told him exactly what I thought of that."

"Which was?" I say as I pull away from Dean's school.

He looks like he can hardly say it now. "That he's being too God damn over protective and we were just fine staying up 'till midnight to get things done. We're both adults. Or something like that. I was just saying what Daddy told me to say," he defends, probably so I don't scold him for that one too. His cheeks are red. I so love his blush.

I laugh. "That was exactly what your daddy told you to say? I don't think so. I don't feel sorry for you. You know the kind of reaction you'll get from Papa Winchester for sass like that. I think you could have got Sam's point across with less aggression. I'm surprised you're allowed out."

"Yeah, I know. Knew it soon as I said it and the look in his eyes—fuck that was scary, but I was a little wrapped up in pickling too, and I caught Daddy's disease. Papa spanked me right in front of Daddy, for mouthing him off like that and reminded me that I'm not a fucking adult yet. I think Papa wanted me out of the house tonight; far away from the kitchen and Daddy."

I laugh harder.

"I knew that's all the sympathy I'd get from you. My ass still fucking hurts."

"My poor baby. Shall I kiss it better?"

He gives me his coy Dean eyes. "I'd rather you kissed my dick better."

"What's wrong with your dick?"

"It's missed you, baby."

"Don't tell me Brad's finally realized cock sucking is also in violation of his chastity vow?"

"No. It just wants you. Hey, your arm's out of the sling."

"Can't get anything by you."

"That mean you're all healed?"

No, but I don't tell him that. My arm is healed, but it's a bit weak and thus my entire vessel is. My grace still has to work on healing it. "Good as new."

Sometimes I'm surprised he believes me. He really is a new Dean, forgetting much of his old life. A real hunter would never believe a word I've said and certainly not the lies I've told. They're barely even good lies, but they are for a good cause. They're for him and I'll keep lying to keep him alive.

"I feel bad for leaving Daddy by himself. I mean, I'm glad the pickling operation is closed, permanently, but he's still got way to much to do. He's in over his head. Papa really doesn't understand how much he has to do, because Daddy didn't fucking tell him. He's made all these new plans. I don't even think he's told me everything that's on that fucking list. I sure hope Papa doesn't get hold of it. Daddy's going to be in so much trouble."

He's stressed. Now I'm stressed. I spend most of my time worrying over his emotional and physical state. I don't know how he doesn't notice me staring at him. All the time. Carefully. Checking for signs of sickness, hunger, blood pressure, dehydration…

Speaking of. "Have you eaten?"

"I had lunch and all the snacks Daddy packed me, but I could eat."

Dean can always eat. It's a full time job keeping him fed. Sometimes I forget; when I'm preoccupied with keeping him alive in other ways. "I've got something for you back at the loft."

"You do? What is it? Did you cook?"

"God, no. I sent Tom for Mexican." The good, Sam approved Mexican restaurant.

"Sweet, baby." He leans back and I notice the sun is burning his eyes out, at least that's what it looks like to me; he is squinting.

"Where are the sunglasses I bought you?"

"In my bag."

"Well that's a good place for them. Put them on. Now."

He thinks about telling me to fuck off. I can tell. His eyes open just a bit wider, before they squint in a way that's not at the sun and he clenches his jaw. He doesn't say anything, but he does reach into his bag to take out his Maui Jims. I bought them for him, recently. The woman at the store assured me they were the best in eye protection.


"Overjoyed. Thank you."

The whole way to the loft, he babbles on about school and the bake sale from hell while I pay avid attention, but only to gather necessary information I need about his state of well being. It's not that I don’t care; I do care because these are the things Dean's interested in, but I'm more preoccupied with what I can garner that will help me take proper care of him.

As far as being with him goes, just being near him is enough for me; it's a feeling beyond measure, something that is said an angel cannot feel except when they are near their human; the human they are devoted to; with which they share a profound bond. Touching him is even better than 'nearness.' It's ecstasy. But when I'm in him…being in him is like everything being right. So while he talks, I take note of everything he's saying and basically marvel at his existence, feeling a calm and a peace that I can only feel when I'm near Dean Winchester.

We finally arrive at my loft where I slide the door open; when it's shut, I grab him.

The whole way here I had to sit near him, smell him, hear him and not touch him too much. I never know who will be watching and my father doesn’t seem to care what I do with 'the human' (as he says) behind closed doors, but it angers him when I 'play' with Dean in public. Currently, I'm trying to stay on his good side.

I've got Dean up again the sliding door to my loft, I'm on his mouth, then his neck, then his mouth, then his neck…he goes limp and pliable letting me do whatever I want to him. I wonder if he does the same thing with pigskin? The thought makes me angry and I slam him against the door, he mistakes my anger for passion and moans. He fucking likes it when I'm rough with him. He's perfect.

I pull away, he's panting; I smirk. "You like that Baby?"

"Uh-huh," he says, nodding. I remove his sunglasses so I can see his pretty eyes and admire his baby face.

"Wear these," I order.

"Yes, sir."

Fuck. I don't think there's anything that can make my dick leak more than Dean telling me, yes sir. I put his sunglasses on the counter and drag him inside. Tom's there of course standing near the tall table that's set for two adjacent to the kitchen. I grab Dean's hand and pull him along. He must be fed and watered before we engage in anymore activities. I've got things planned and for once I don't mean sex.

"Thank you, Tom," Dean says. His parents drilled the concept of manners into his head early on; he's so fucking polite even to Tom.

Tom's never sure how much he's allowed to talk to Dean. Even after all this time. I trust him with Dean's life, which is a huge fucking deal and he knows it, but he's never sure how I'd react to him being too friendly with Dean. I'm not sure either to be honest. I tolerate the humans because I must, I don't have to tolerate angels. Well that's not exactly true, there are some angels I have to tolerate and some I don't.

I don't have to tolerate Tom and he knows it, but I like him. I think Dean would call us 'bros.' I've never entirely understood that term, but I'm fairly certain our extracurricular activities would categorize us as such. But if he ever put the moves on Dean, if I even thought he was, well, I hope we'd be able to resolve it over a fist fight and beer like they do on human television shows, but we are angels and we don't exactly deal with things that way. Let's just say, I don't want to find out and neither does he, so he keeps things with Dean short.

Dean receives a nod from Tom while he addresses me. "Will that be all, sir?"

"That will be all."

While Tom is, for all intents and purposes, 'mine,' he is still meant to be loyal to my father first and foremost—we all are. He's supposed to 'keep an eye' on me and vouch for my various whereabouts when my father happens to be interested. But he isn't loyal to my father; he's loyal to me, which has been proven many times over. So, Tom will stay, but he'll give Dean and me the illusion of privacy. He leaves out the door, but he'll appear in my office. He's got wings.

"God that smells fucking good, I'm famished."

"Sit down and eat before you wither away," I tease. There was a time I really thought he was going to wither away when he said things like that, but Sam assured me Dean was exaggerating and since he seems at least be half as concerned with keeping Dean alive and well as I am, I eventually believed him.

I pull out his chair for him, he looks at me funny.


"This just seems really fucking formal. What the fuck?"

I love his dirty mouth when it says 'fuck.' I smile. "I assure you it's not." But it is. I can't take him on a real date like Brad can.

The things Sam said to me worried the fucking hell out of me. They were simply true things and being a good father-type figure, he felt he had to talk to me about it. I obsessed over it for days cleaning everything twenty times over to the point Tom almost called Mr. Winchester. Because lose Dean to that, that…I have no names terrible enough for him; I just won't fucking lose him to that creature.

"Eat," I order and take my place across from him.

He does eyeing me carefully while I open the two beers that are already there.

"Wow, you must have been not feeling well. It's almost fucking messy in here," he says with a mouth full of taco.

I know what he means by 'almost.' It's still outrageously clean, but it's messy for me. I had Tom 'mess it up,' a bit while I collected Dean. I didn’t want him to see the after effects of my cleaning rampage. He was so distraught yesterday, he didn’t even look around long enough to notice.

"I thought your daddy taught you not to talk with your mouth full? You could choke. Then who will I have to spank?"

He smiles, but finishes chewing and swallows before he says, "so what have you decided to spank me for this time?"

"I don't know. There are so many options."

"Well if you could go kinda easy, that would be much appreciated. Papa spanked me good."

"I'll spank you however I please. If you want to misbehave and earn yourself multiple spankings, that's not my fault." I won't of course, but he can think that for a little bit.

He's quiet and looks suitably chastised. I decide to try a bite of the burrito in front of me, the only kind of Mexican food I can really stomach, but it's not my favorite. I'm hoping the taste will grow on me in some millennium.

After he's finished his first taco, he removes his school jacket, loosens his tie and pulls the tails of his shirt out of his pants. "I've gotta make room. I plan on eating all of these."

"How about you change?"

"You want me to put on a little show for you?" he says hopping up and reaching into his bag. I get up to stop him.

"I want you to wear something of mine." I want him to smell like me. And I know that goes against the whole I'm his, he's not mine thing, but I consider it a backwards claiming, so we can smell alike. I'd wear his shirt if it would fit.


"Humor me."

"Okay," he sing songs. He's smiling though. I think he likes the suggestion.

"And you should shower, first." To clear away the stench of Brad's cologne. He knows what I'm not saying.

"Is there a reason you're being so territorial today?" he says as he takes off his shirt. Fuck he's sexy.

"If I was being truly territorial, I'd bite your neck."

"Wrong species, Sugar. You're an angel, not a vampire," he smirks and takes off his pants. He's down to just his boxers. "Shower with me?"

"I've already had a shower today."

"Not for getting clean. For getting dirty." He waggles his brow.

As if I didn’t know that. It's the very reason I'm not going to get in the shower with him. Somehow, someway, I'm going to make it through the evening without having sex with Dean. "No. Get in the shower before I spank you."

"Jesus fucking, Christ. All right." He walks into the bedroom and I can just see him enter the ensuite bathroom.

That's dangerously close to 'Fuck off,' but I let it go. Tonight is supposed to be special.

He's fast and walks out of the bedroom wearing nothing. "Um, clothes?"

Oh right.

"You okay, Michael?"

It's this fucking fatigue making me space out a little still. "Never better. Your father did a good job," I say noticing how deliciously pink his ass is, since he's strutting around naked. "Looks like I really will have to be careful when I spank your ass tonight." This make it more difficult to keep my vow not to fuck him. This isn't going very well.

"Why don't you two get together and compare fucking notes?"

I arch my brow at him.

"He said the exact same thing about your spanking Monday."

"Monday? Just how many times have you been spanked since Sunday?"

"Just two," he says sheepishly staring at the floor.

"You naughty boy. Well you know the rules, if you're spanked at school, you also get spanked at home. Let's get this out of the way," I say holding my hand out for him.

He laughs. "When did that become a rule?"

"I saw it in a porn once."

"You were watching porn without me? I thought we always watch porn together," he pouts.

"You were away in Texas and besides it was well before we started fucking."

He smiles. "Okay."

I pull him to me and kiss him softly this time. I love you, Dean.

I pull out a chair and sit, bringing him to my side. "Do you know why I'm going to spank you, Duck?"

"I honestly have no fucking clue. I didn't break any rules, or well, I did, but I thought not going to the concert was punishment for that?"

"That's right. This isn't for a broken rule. This is for you and me. My role is to take care of you, make you feel safe and I'm not even talking about Angels and Demons and things that go bump in the night, but I'm here for that too of course. Right now, I'm talking about rules and structure, that kind of safety. I'm committed to that Dean." I'm committed to you, Dean. I hope that's what he hears, and maybe he will someday; once he grows out of his immature teenage mind. I hope it's not too late by then.

"If I had spanked you yesterday, I could have saved you the trouble with your papa. I'm sorry, Duck. This is to make up for that."

"I seem to be getting a lot of spankings on account of other people's mistakes," he says, but he's smiling. This is something Dean understands growing up in the family he has.

"Don't be smart. Over my lap."

When I have him there, I immediately feel his hardness, which fucking makes me harder, plus, I'm looking at his fucking spanked ass, and god, I just want to ram my cock into him. Why oh why must you be so delectable, Winchester? The first spank I give him is for that reason alone.

He spreads his legs thus spreading his fucking ass cheeks, knowing me all too well, trying to entice me and laughs. "That's fine, you won't be laughing for long."

I make true on my promise, spanking him thoroughly, I want him to feel it as a gentle reminder for the rest of the night, but I don't want it to be near what I gave him Sunday. Because this is just a reminder; a reminder that I am here for him.

When I'm finished, I rub my hand over his tender cheeks and they clench just slightly. I've got the aloe right beside me; I rub it in carefully, letting him cry and release everything from this week; fundraisers, run ins with family members, Brad, even me, and anything else. I sense when he's done and stand him up. He wipes at tears. "Thanks, Michael. That was good, I…I needed that too. From you. It's different from you."

"I know."

"Fuck though, Michael. I'm so fucking horny, can we at least have round one before we eat anymore?"

I pull him over to my bedroom and he gets the wrong idea, smiling, thinking I'm going to fuck him. I retrieve a t-shirt and one of two pairs of pajama pants I own. I dress him.

"What's the deal?"

"We're not having sex tonight," I break the sad news to him. It's just as heartbreaking for me.

His jaw drops. "Oh my God. Is this like one of those sexual kinds of punishments like some of my parent's into 'the scene' friends do?"

And your daddies. But he doesn't need to know that. "No."

"It's worse then. Are you…are you not attracted to me?"

Fool. I grab his hand and shove it down my pants. "Does that feel like I'm not attracted to you?"

"Oh, well when you put it that way." I take his hand away because it's causing me to leak. "Then why?"

"Because that's the only thing we do; fuck. We should do other things."

"And it's a great extra-circular activity. I don't recall being consulted on this. I'm an important member of the Michael-Dean board. I should have at least gotten to chair that meeting."

"Well I'm the fucking president. We're not fucking tonight, Dean. Besides, for that we both have to agree. Otherwise it's rape."

He laughs way too hard. "Rape is a serious matter," I say.

"It is, when it doesn't involve me raping you, because as if that could ever happen. And my red ass you don't want to have sex tonight. I think you fucking do, but have some fucked up idea in your head that I plan on dissuading you from."

"Like you dissuaded Brad?"

"Oh. I get it now. Michael. You're being ridiculous."

Am I though? Brad must be awfully special if Dean Winchester is still with him after a week of no sex. "We're not having sex. Drop it."

"Lordy be, Michael. Fine," he huffs. "No fucking sex. It's just for tonight though, right?"

Probably, but I don't want him to know. "We'll see."

I dig out my other pair of pajamas and put them on. I decide not to wear a shirt. "I don't think so, if we're not having sex, you're putting a t-shirt on Michael Godfrey."

"Dear Lord, I've turned you into Daddy Winchester," I say, but put a grey t-shirt on. "And I thought I became a Winchester? You know, at the Sunday night cult meeting?" I tease. I'm actually quite proud of that.

"Yeah baby?" he says slipping his arms around me. "You want to be Michael Winchester?"

It's times like now, when he says things like that he sounds more grown up than he is and I get a flash of what I think old Dean must have been like. I bet he seduced a lot of game that way. I consider myself happily seduced by his words combined with his intense green eyes looking at me like that.

But it's old Dean's line, coming from Dean Winchester and he means it for me and no one else. "Oh my god you do want to be called Michael Winchester," he practically announces to the world and I can hear Tom chuckle in my office. I hope Dean didn’t fucking hear that.

"Shh. Don't say that so loud," I say without thinking, fuck. I'm still too fucking tired for this. Dean's smart and he'll figure shit out.

He does.

"Why? Is there someone listening in on us?"

I don't think there is, but I never really know. I took a chance when I had Daddy Winchester here, but I didn't have much choice. A lot went into planning that; Gabriel helped me. I'm ninety-nine percent certain no one heard that conversation.

And I’m certain no one's listening now, but I'm still cautious. And even if they are, so long as we're quiet, they can't hear us. "Tom is nearby," I say without telling him how nearby he is. "He can hear us."

"He's seen you spank me, I don't see how this is worse."

It's not a good lie; I know. "That only embarrassed you," I smirk. There. That's better; believable. But still a bad idea. I've just given a Winchester ammo.

"Michael Winchester. I like it. I'll call you Winchester for short, or even Michael 'Chester. Oh! And I'll have fucking bracelets made."

I'm blushing. I can feel it. I'd love a bracelet like that from Dean and if it were ever possible, I would change my name to Michael Winchester. But his teasing makes me want to throttle him. I glower with the blush staining my cheeks; it doesn't have the effect I seek.

He's laughing so hard he has to hide his face into my chest. "Oh my God, oh my God, check this out. Maybe instead of Michael 'Chester, I call you Chester and sometimes Chess, for short? You said you wanted a nickname…this one's totally Colt worthy. I'm a fucking genius."

"That's it. You're dead."

He runs and actually gets away due to my increased fatigue. But I'm still an angel and he doesn’t evade me long. He doesn’t seem to care that he's been captured, I drag him over to the bed, pulling down his pants as he struggles, when I get them down just enough to see skin, I wallop him twice. "Okay! Okay! I give," he's still laughing.

I pull him up to me and stare at him until I have to have his lips. I kiss him wildly, and he returns it with just as much fevor. Soon, we're panting and kissing and ripping clothes off. I'm still devouring his lips as we rut, naked against each other. Dean doesn't know (there's a lot Dean doesn't know) but he's the only one I kiss like this. I've kept my end of the bargain even if he hasn't. I don't care if doesn't. I know he'll care if I do and it's something else I can give him, since there are so many things I can't.

He suddenly pulls away and stares up at me with those green, green eyes. "Michael 'Chester," he says absolutely serious this time.


"Will you please, for the love of all that is holy, stick your cock in me?"

Fuck it. Fuck not fucking. He's right; that was a stupid idea. Brad's an idiot if he doesn't want to fuck Dean.

I can't answer. I just nod. But I won't do it for all that is holy; I do it just for him.

I do make him wait though. I spread him open and lap at his hole with my tongue; he moans above me and it's the best sound in the world. His cock looks heavy and swollen already teased to his endurance with foreplay between all the spanking and the fucking. I don't make him wait too much longer, but I do lube up two fingers and scissor him open.

I place the head of my vessel's huge cock at this entrance and take in his lust filled aura. His entire body language is drunk with lust and I can't help, but tease his hole a little more, by circling the head of my cock there, directing it via my hand around the shaft. "You want my cock, baby?"

"Fuck, please. Please. I need you, baby."

That's all I need to hear. I slam into him and he grips me with his strong hockey legs. I kiss his neck, breathing him in and move every so often back to his lips; my lips are just for him.

I know he's close, so I make my next thrust good and deep, and glide over his prostate until he's cumming all over himself and I release inside of him, collapsing on his sticky cum covered stomach. "That was, amazing," I say. "We should delay sex more often."

"You're right, between my school and here, that was such a long time."

"I haven't fucked you in almost a week."

"True. You're a lot easier than Brad and I'm fucking glad for it."

"I've decided that guy is a fucking moron," I share my insight with him.

Dean laughs. "Maybe in that department; he doesn't know what he's missing."

And I hope he never fucking finds out.


Michael's tired.

He thinks I don't fucking know, but I'm not stupid. I was a fucking hunter. I may not have all the skills I used to, but I think that’s why I can still read people, especially the ones I know well. It's just that unlike I imagine a hunter might, I take what people say at face value a whole lot more than maybe I should. It takes me a little longer to figure out when I'm being played.

You know what I think? I think he was a lot more hurt than he let on. The other thing making me fucking suspicious, now that I'm thinking about it, is Daddy's behavior from this morning; because he was unusually mad at me. I chalked it up to him being crazy over the whole beans fiasco, but instead it could be the beans fiasco that caused him to slip up...which means he knows something and they're protecting me. And if there's anyone the two would have mutual purpose in protecting, it's me. I can't blame them, and neither can they me for doing the fucking same.

I shouldn't do what I'm about to do; but it's instinct. Instinct that's never gone away, which means it never will.

"Wow, that tired me the fuck out," I say casually, but truthfully (it's important the things I say to him be true) as I get up to clean myself off. He lets me and slowly gets up to do the same, but sits back down on the bed only having put his PJ's on. I put my borrowed clothing items on and make like I'm going to eat more food.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To eat," I say like he's a moron, like I would, making fun of him.

"Fuck Dean. Do you have to make this so hard for me? Are you more tired, or are you more hungry? I might seem human to you sometimes, but I'm not and I don't know which one is more important."

"Neither do humans. How the fuck am I supposed to know?"

He growls.

"Okay, okay. I have an idea. I'll bring one of these delicious tacos into bed with us, eat it and then I'll fall asleep right after."

"They're messy. If you get fucking taco in my bed Winchester…"

"I know, I know. You'll spank my ass. I promise I won't…Winchester."

He's not sold, but he's not saying no, so I go ahead and grab a taco from the table, then head back into the bedroom and sit against the place where a headboard would be, if he had a headboard, right next to my surly angel. When I show him I can be careful, using the wrapping to catch any stray shreds of lettuce, he relaxes. I eat. Really. Fucking. Slowly.

The whole time he's lying against me, just barely able to keep his eyes open, toying with the hem of my shirt and occasionally the skin below my belly button. I don't talk, and neither does he. I'm eating, he won't want me to choke and he'll want me to eat quickly since he's worried about me falling asleep.

He doesn't even notice when I've finished eating, so I begin carding fingers through his hair and I hum to him an old song my parents and uncle used to sing to me. It's low and soft and eventually, Michael's out.

The angel only ever falls asleep when he's dog tired (like Uncle Dal would say). Sure I haven't seen Michael much this week; I don't know what he's been up to; maybe he's had to do things for his father, things that have caused him to exert himself more than usual, making him this fucking tired. Sure. It's fucking possible.

But it's a little too fucking coincidental for me.

Something's going on and the worry over it pools in my gut as my angel sleeps soundly. If Daddy was worried, then I'm worried too. I've seen Michael hurt before; it didn't take him this long to heal; it didn't take his limited grace long to make him better.

I know his father gives him grace sometimes now—now that he's proven himself, or however the fuck Michael put it. If he was this hurt, why wouldn't his father heal him? Why wasn't he in the least given extra grace?

Too many questions with no fucking answers.

I watch him sleep and fucking worry myself sick over him. Jesus Christ I've been an ass to him. Oh god. And he came to that fucking dinner Sunday all beat the fuck up. How beat the fuck up? I was too obsessed with my fucking self to figure it out. Daddy tried to tell me—he fucking came for me.

I start crying again, quietly. I'm pretty sure he won't wake up, but just in case.

He's still asleep when I'm done, so I just admire him. Mine. He's mine. And if anyone's fucking with him, they'll answer to me, and I'll kill them, with my bare. Fucking. Hands.

Chapter Text

Michael sleeps for an hour.

All that sex did make me tired, but my suspicious mind kept me a-fucking-wake. I'm sitting with my feet propped up on the bed, in a chair I brought in from the other room. I've had quite a bit of time to study Michael. Everything about him looks okay, but I know he's not okay and I have to figure out what to ask him, so he'll tell me what the fuck is really going on with him.

When he wakes up, I'm still staring at him with no clue what the 'right' questions are, just a lot of questions. Whenever Michael wakes up he's not exactly groggy like a human, nor is he particularly spry. He's just awake. Like now. He notices I'm not beside him. "Dean?"

"How was your sleep?" I say accusingly. Okay. So I'm no James Bond.

His eyes narrow. "You didn't sleep?"


"What's going on?"

"I should ask you the same question. Tell me the truth Michael. What happened to you? Why's it taking so long for you to heal? You were hurt worse than you've been letting on, weren't you? How come your father won't give you enough grace to heal?" All my questions come fucking flooding out. I suck at this. I wonder how old Dean would have interrogated someone? I just have no fucking clue and nothing's coming back to me no matter how hard I try and remember. That skill must be wiped clean.

He takes a sharp inhale and makes it a slow exhale. "Yes I was injured a lot worse than I let on—I didn't want you to worry about me. My father wouldn't heal me this time; as punishment."

"That bastard. What kind of a sick and twisted—"

"Calm. Down," Michael says in a chilling voice. It does make me shut the fuck up. When he's sure I'm going to shut up, he pushes away the blankets I'd wrapped around him and gets up to retrieve something from his closet. "I was going to just surprise you and show up, but…"

"Show up? To what? No. Wait. Don't change the subject, you still haven't answered my question."

He looks angry now. "We did not retrieve the object that was spoken about on the night of the 'happening.' Father was angry. Fights broke out all over the place and I was injured, badly. Father had planned on punishing me anyway, for our mistake, but he said I could choose: Heal on my own, or no longer being able to go here, with you."

He hands me something. It's a ticket. An airplane ticket. To Texas.

"Y-you're coming? Oh my god you're coming? You're coming!" I fucking grab the ticket and jump around like a crazy person before squeezing the life out of him.

"You are becoming more Colt everyday," he says, but he fucking likes my reaction. He's smiling.

We're flying commercially this year. We keep trying every so often. My parents ran it by me and I said yes. I'm seventeen now; I'll be fucking okay. Probably. Though flying privately is pretty fucking rad. Papa and Daddy like to avoid being flashy when they can, so I know they would prefer to fly commercially—still first class of course—but they wouldn't mind flying privately if I needed them to. "I can't believe you're finally coming," I say and I really can't think of anything better. "But Michael, you were really hurt. Tell me the truth."

"The angel almost ripped my arm off."

"Jesus H, Michael. It still pisses me off, I mean that's an awfully terrible punishment—letting your ripped arm just heal when he could have fixed it in no time. Does he do shit like this often?"

"Not often. No. We're angels Dean. We work differently than humans. Besides, if father didn't punish me in some way, he would have looked weak in front of the other angels. They already think I'm spoiled. He felt terrible, but he had to do something. My relationship with Father has really come a long way since the last time he gave me Modlenol. It's good now."

"I still don't like it."

"I was given a choice. He would have healed me had I given up Texas."

"I didn't even know you were going. You should have given it up."

He does not look pleased with my answer; I have no idea why. "I wasn't going to pass up my chance to look after you in a strange far away land. You know how I get every year when you leave me."

Strange far away land. Jeez. It's Texas, not Narnia. "God Michael, I don't know what to say."

"That maybe you'll talk to me before jumping to conclusions again."

I scratch my head sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry. But why didn't you just tell me that?"

"Why do you think? Didn't want you trouncing off to speak with my father. He would not have taken kindly to it."

"I'm not an idiot—don't respond to that."

He barely stops himself laughing.

"Well it wasn't just you, Daddy was acting funny too."

"He knew. I asked him for help with my arm. He had his witch doctor fix me up."

"Oh." Makes sense. I've known a long time he and Michael share a special bond I think is a lot to do with Daddy know how to 'handle' the Michael and Papa types. I'm glad he can go to Daddy. "So you both conspired against me," I pout.

"Not against you. For you. Your daddy agreed with my prediction."

"Well I know now. Here's me not going to fucking Lucifer. I'm really not that dumb Michael. Don't you trust me?"

"I trust you, but not with this. I know you better than you think, Winchester."

"Why are you Winchestering me? I'm not going to go marching up to your father's house. I think it fucking sucks…I mean I'd like to in a perfect world—"

"He got me a Ducati. You want to see it?"

"Fuck. Really?"

"Yeah. Pass me a shirt."

"I've always wanted to ride a Ducati." I pass him a shirt he slips on.

"Your daddy said you can't ride on it."

"What? That's horseshit. I'll bet Papa would let me. Let's ask him."

"When has your papa ever let you do something your daddy said no to?"

"Spider hunting," I smirk.

He shakes his head. "It's true what they say then, about human children. If you set a certain precedent, even once…"

"Let's ask him on Sunday. That will be fun. We'll need something to lighten the mood after all the work of the fundraiser, which by the way, I told Daddy you'd be there to help Sunday."

"Oh, you did, did you?"

"Yep. Come to the church around eight. Daddy will give you a job."

He doesn't look pleased, but it's in more of a 'I'll get you back for this Dean Winchester' kind of way. He takes me down to the underground parkade of his building and shows me his sweet ass Ducati. "Can I touch her?" I ask respectfully. I wouldn't want anyone touching Baby without my permission.

Michael nods and I run my hand along the red paint. Wow. "One little ride—he'll never know..."

"That man always knows. No way."

Fine. He probably has a point. I continue to admire her until he practically drags me away. "So you see? He felt badly."

"And you're okay with being bribed into forgiveness?"

"Absolutely. I told you. Angels are different than humans."

"And you wanted a Ducati?"

"Not exactly. It was more the gesture I appreciated. Father doesn't buy things for just anybody. But I do have to say, it is pretty…exhilarating, it's fast, reminds me of flying."

"You still remember what it's like to fly?"

"I do."

Once we're back in the loft I ask, "so what now? You sure you don't have tickets to Dally's concert in your closet too?"

"I don't. You're definitely grounded tonight."

"Gotta say, this is the best grounding ever. Tacos, sex, Ducati's, it's not like that at Casa de Winchester."

"I should hope not."

I laugh as he moves over to the stereo where he slips his iPhone into the dock and presses play.

"Sweet Child 'o' Mine?" I say.

"Yes," he says pulling me to him and starting to dance, swaying us back and forth. "I know this is your favorite rock song, despite the fact that Metallica is your favorite all around band of all time."

What is this? Dean trivia night? "Okay," I say not really knowing what to say to that. He keeps us dancing, putting his forehead on mine.

"I can't believe you're coming to Texas," I say again. "So that's why you and Papa had a secret meeting."

"Shall I start calling you Sherlock?" he says dipping me slightly and nibbling on my neck.

"Well I was really curious about that," I complain.

"How did you survive all this time? All the secrecy. All the lies."

I whack him. He laughs. "Well just wait. You might regret being able to come. Colts have their own sense of duty. We're going to have kids coming out our ying-yang. 'Just because we're visitors Dean Daniel, it don't mean we ain't gotta help out the family,' says Daddy, like every year. Ever notice how his accent comes back around his family? Papa's doesn't really."

"I'm just glad I'll be able to keep football head at a reasonable distance from you for a month."

He gets a funny look for that. "Why are you jealous over him? You've never been quite like this before."

"You've also never shown that much interest in anyone else before."

"That's not true. In sixth grade I had a huge crush on Emma Hammond."

"Who had absolutely no interest in you. You chased her around like a fool. That was highly entertaining for me. Why would I be jealous about that?"

"Aha! So you are jealous."

"Detective Holmes strikes again. I never thought I was making it secret."

"I don't get it Michael. Why not just tell me to stop?"

"Do you want to stop?"

I can't look at him; I look at his chest.

"That's the reason. You want it, Duck."

"Since when do you give me everything I want?"

"Since when don't I?" he says pissed.

"Like tonight. I wanted to go see Uncle Dally."

He pulls away from me. "You really are a spoiled brat, Dean." He means that. "If you're going to whine and complain over all the punishments I hand out, why don't you just go? I'm sure you can still get in. Clearly our agreement means nothing to you."

Whoa. He's fucking hurt. I can see that now. In the past, I would have just told him to fuck off, but I really am trying to learn something from Daddy and Papa. "Michael, I'm sorry. You're right, I shouldn't complain about punishments. That's not fair. I'd never have done that to Papa, in fact if I had, I wouldn't be going to any concerts for a long time. You deserve the same respect."

He's still not responding to me and has moved over to the couch. I approach him slowly; he's staring at the coffee table where there's a bunch of stuff. "What's all this?" It's hard to see Michael's coffee table from where I was in the kitchen eating tacos, then we spent the rest of our time fucking and stuff in his bedroom. I didn't see all this.

There's a soother, the one I found in the drawer from the other day, five stuffed Tiggers, a lot like the one I had when I was little, a t-shirt I gave him the only time we were even close to the same size. I was six and he looked eightish again (another one of those long stories I'll have to save for another time for you), what looks like a couple of hospital bracelets and upon closer inspection I see they've gotta be from times I've injured myself playing hockey, but one has a really old date that has to have been something from when I was little, but I can't quite place it. Maybe when I fell off my bike? Not sure. There are ticket stubs to the first concert of Uncle Dal's we went to, back before we were fucking, which speaking of, there's the condom (unused still in the wrapper) from the first night we did have sex the first time, since I thought I would need it (always practice safe sex kids). There are more, all kinds of things, memento type things from various times in our life together. Most of them of good memories, but some from the not so good, yet important memories. And there's a bag of something I don't quite…what the fuck? I pick it up.

"Michael, are these fucking teeth?"

He looks embarrassed. "Just a few I stole and conned away from Daddy Winchester. I didn't understand the concept of losing teeth when you lost yours, especially since they took so fucking long to grow back. I was trying to collect them all, just incase I had to somehow use my grace to reattach them to your gums."

"You can do that?"

"I don't know, but if it came down to it, I was going to try."

"Um…that's real…thoughtful?" I really don't know what the fuck it is. "But maybe we can get rid of the teeth now, see? All there." I smile extra wide.

He gets up and snatches the bag out of my hand. "Those are mine." He puts them back to their 'spot' on the table, which I now realize is a specific set up in the whole Dean memoriam shrine. He's still pissed at me. I've got to turn on the Dean charm.

"So how come there are like, five Tiggers?"

"That's classified information. Let's just say, something 'happened' to Tigger and we needed a back up in case."

"Daddy already told me he was mutilated in the washing machine, Michael."

He still won't answer me. I pick up my old soother. "I don't even remember why I gave you this, but I can't believe you kept it. Are you hoping I'll be into baby kink, or whatever they're calling it in fanfiction nowadays?"

"I'm not into baby kink," he snaps at me. "Put that down."

Jesus Christ. I replace it in its spot and point at the next item of interest, so he doesn't get pissed at me. "What's that pile of rocks all about?"

"The day we met."

"The day we met?" I was like, one and a half when we met; I have no recollection of that, unfortunately. I know we met at the playground, 'cause I've been told that, but I don't have a memory; I was too young.

"There were rocks at the playground, I put some in my pocket when you weren't looking."

"Michael. Do we need to have an intervention? Are you a…Dean hoarder?"

"I'm not a 'Dean hoarder.'"

"This is quite the fucking collection. Maybe you're my stalker, huh?"

Still nothing. Fuck. I try to assess this situation calmly, so completely not like myself at all. He's been acting weird all night, well, for Michael weird. The somewhat formal dinner, trying not to have sex, favorite songs, the somewhat creepy collection of stuff from all the years we've been together…

I have to remember Michael's an angel. He's not human, no matter how much my brain sometimes thinks he is.

I'm coming up with nothing though. He can't be telling me he loves me; I already know that. I mean c'mon. Sure I've been known to flip out and maybe accuse him of being an uncaring dick, but it's simply not true. Wait, let me clarify; he is sometimes an insensitive angel dick, but there's no way he doesn't love me.

I did go through a time when I was younger, where I thought maybe I was just his 'angel obligation,' but I realized there's no way I can be. Michael doesn't say the words 'I love you,' I don't think he understands love in that way, but to my understanding, I know he loves me, or at least cares deeply for me in a love-type way.

But does he know, I know, he knows, I know?

I kneel down between his knees, fully expecting him to tell me to get lost, but he doesn't, instead his eyes just look sad. "Michael, I'm a dick sometimes, you know that. I shouldn't be a dick about this though, it's too important and I can see you're really trying. You're doing an excellent job. I'm the one who sucks."

When his eyes have their amused smirk back, I know I've got my Michael back. "You're not quite that terrible, but I would give you a needs improvement on your report card."

He grips me underneath my armpits and pulls me up beside him.

After we (carefully) put away all of his Dean paraphernalia, we have more sex then finally eat some more and when it's time for him to take me home we don't change out of his pajamas and t-shirts. I don't tell him that's not typical of a normal 'date,' since I've clued in that's basically what he's been aiming for all night. A date. I want him to think he did good.

He drops me off at the door, refusing to come in, but he gives me one hell of a goodnight kiss. "Thanks baby, that was a good night."

"I hope you learned your lesson, naughty boy."

Which reminds me. I had big plans on talking to him about that rule, but after what happened at the end of our night, I'm not so sure I should. But I remember what my parents always say about communication and this kind of thing, so I take a nervous breath and ask him anyway, and I'm probably a helluva lot more respectful than I was planning on being. "Um, Michael? You know that rule where, um, I 'run my plans by you?'"

"I'm aware of it, yes."

"I'm having a hard time with it. It's really hard to make plans that way and I feel like it's not really a 'run by,' like it sounded when we first made the rule—I feel more like I'm asking permission."

"And you have a problem with that?"

Sneaky asshole. That's exactly what he wants. "No, not a problem—"

"So we're good then."

"Michael. Look, it seems like you want to know where I'm going to be, couldn't I just tell you and if you or Tom are not around, you could then relay that information to me and I swear I'll cancel my plans."

He's considering it. "I kind of like the way we have it now."

Fuck. How would Daddy deal with this? "Okay. If you really need it that way, I can do that, I'm just saying it's been hard and it would be nice if we could find a way to meet both our needs on this one." Wow. That sounded so grown up.

"I think you need a whole lot more structure than you think you do, Dean. I think my way meets both our needs."

Seriously. He and my father need to stop talking. I don't realize my fists are balled until he puts his strong hands around each of them and gently presses a thumb into the middle of each to relax them. "I know it's frustrating for you, but that's all. You can do this and if you need help, I have zero problems doing that."

He has no problems spanking me he means. This is the first time Michael's decided to push me. He usually backs down; I mean I even talked him out of the no beans thing. "I can practically see what you're thinking Dean. Every time I've backed down on something like this, it ends badly, for you. I say we should keep the rule as is, at least for now. If we have to redefine it, I'm fine with that, but I want you to call me before you make plans."

This is frustrating. Remember all that calm and responsibility I was exercising moments ago? It's kinda going away. "I disagree. We need to agree Michael."

"And I gave you my reasons for thinking we need the rule. You don't have any legitimate reasons as to why we shouldn't. 'It's too hard,' is not a good reason and you know it."

"So now I'm supposed to ask permission?"


"Fine. But I'm bringing this up Sunday at dinner. You still okay with it?"

"Please do."

Arrogant ass. "Goodnight then," I say without even a kiss.

But before I storm into the house I hear him say, "does this get me out of the church fundraiser Sunday?"

I turn back around. "You'd better be there, Michael Winchester."

I can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, "night, Duck." And walks off into the night.


The house is quiet, but I still head to the kitchen thinking someone's still gotta be up. Daddy's there. "I'm just cleaning up, Cassy, see?" he says with his back turned to me, wiping down the kitchen counter.

"It's me Daddy."

Daddy turns around. "Oh thank the Lord," he whispers. "Your father is driving me crazy, Dean."

I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. He must be annoyed if he's talking like that. But if he's annoyed, Papa's downright ticked. A day of working together, must have them re-put out with each other. I'm sitting at the table, having made myself a cup of tea when 'my father,' comes in. "Hey, Papa."

"Hello, son. You should be getting to bed after that," he says. It sounds like a suggestion. It's not. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day." You'll have to excuse him, as I'm going to, he's just on a tear right now because of Daddy.

"Yes, sir. And thanks for arranging for Michael to come to Texas."

"He told you?" Papa says.

"Yeah. Tonight." I tell them about my night, but leave out the 'rule' stuffs and the Ducati—I'll save that for Sunday.

"How many tacos did you eat, young man?" Daddy says displeased.

"They're the kind you like."

He frowns at me, but doesn't pursue it. It would seem that just because the beans are over, doesn't mean we are quite back to normal at Casa de Winchester. Everyone's still grouch-o. I decide bed sounds good. I gulp down my tea and kiss each of them goodnight. And hope to Christ tomorrow goes okay.


"Dean?" Daddy whispers when I come down in the morning. I'm still rubbing sleep out of my fucking eyes. Daddy wanted me up at five am and even though I think it's fucking ridiculous, I'd rather not argue with anyone right now.

He hands me a cup of coffee when I sit on the bench at the kitchen table. He's already got the sliding door open, cool breeze of the morning is blowing in, with the faint scent of flowery-flowers. It's sunny and it's going to be hot, but thankfully not yet. "Why are we whispering, Daddy?" There's no way Papa didn't notice him getting out of bed.

"Because, I'm going to show you the list. Your papa tried real hard to get this from me yesterday, but I somehow managed to keep it away from him."

At least he's 'your papa,' again. "You're walking a line, Sur," I say like he does to me and I'm still fucking whispering.

"When I told him how much cornbread we needed, he cut it in fudging half."

Whoa. You don't mess with Daddy's cornbread.

"I can only imagine what he'd say about the amount of chicken I want to make."

I take a look at his list and almost have a fucking heart attack. "Jesus H, Daddy!" I whisper yell. "This is a lot."

I look into Daddy's large, sad eyes and I can see how important this is to him. I may not understand it completely, but I can see he's counting on me, his best friend, to help him with this. I really don't think we're going to get it all done, even with Uncle Dally helping us, but I'll give it my best shot. "Don't worry, Daddy. We'll get it done; Papa will never see this list."

Uncle Dal shows up at a reasonable hour, eight am, but it's pretty early since he just had a concert last night. "How'd it go Uncle Dal? Sorry none of us could make it."

"Don't worry about it half-pint. It was a last minute thing. Besides, I did have someone there to cheer me on."

Oh really? I want all the details, but we are kinda in the middle of fundraiser hell, so I leave it for now. Daddy shows Dally our list (yes, it's become my list too—I may have added a few things, told you I get dragged in with Daddy).

Dally starts laughing is ass off at us. "Really cowboys? Okay. All we can do is our best, let's get to it."

Papa must know to stay far away from us. We reach ten o'clock with no sign of him—I don't think Daddy misses him and have a good feeling Papa's doing that for him. Papa can't help but worry about Daddy, but he can also be a total sucker for Daddy.

Despite the stress of the time crunch hanging over our heads, we're having a good time. Right now we're three Colts in the midst of Colt chaos and it's a good feeling. Uncle Dal looks up at me from his task and suddenly busts out with a song. "Amazing, grace. How sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me. I was once was lost, but now I'm found. Was blind but now I see."

I smile and join him. "Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved."

Daddy joins us. "How precious did that Grace appear, the hour I first believed."

When we arrive back at the chorus, we know to sing it as a round, then we're back to another verse we sing together. We're kind of a singing family, in case you haven't noticed. Not like the fucking Von Trapps…okay, maybe a bit like the fucking Von Trapps. But if I start singing 'How do you Solve a Problem Like Maria,' please fucking stop me.

We all laugh when we're done and Daddy's smiling huge. Ah. So that's why he did it. Uncle Dal seems to be able to sense Daddy's discontent and he's good a soothing him in a 'Colt' way. Daddy loves this stuff, he wants to have fun doing it, I'm sure he misses doing this with his family like crazy. That's probably all he's wanted this whole time, to have fun doing this. It's just not in Papa though. He needs things to be controlled and precise, he has to maintain order and minimize chaos. Colt functions are defined by their chaos.

We quickly decide on another song and are in the middle of it when Papa finally makes an appearance. "Good morning, family."

"Morning Papa," I say. "You come to help us make coleslaw?"

"Oh, no. Papa doesn't make coleslaw," he says.

"You made cornbread yesterday."

"And ask me how much I enjoyed it," he says raising his eyebrows. "I thought I'd get out of your hair." He moves over to where Daddy is and manhandles him 'till he's facing him, he puts his arms around Daddy's waist and pulls him into a kiss.

When he pulls away, Papa pushes Daddy's long hair away from his face. "You going to be okay if I leave you with these two?"

Daddy blushes. A silent understanding is reached between them. I think their weird brand of fighting has just come to an end. "Yeah, Cassy."

I can't believe he's not stopping us and that he's letting us be.

"You can close your mouth, Dean," Papa says. Dally laughs at me. "This is me waving the white flag. Sometimes a Colt's gotta do what a Colt's gotta do."

He kisses Daddy again and I would complain, but I can't tell you how fucking happy I am that they're finished arguing over this. Thank God I don't have to worry about them getting a divorce, I don't think I could fucking handle that.

"Be good, Dean," Papa warns me like usual. He says goodbye to Uncle Dal too and he's gone.

When Papa's gone, Daddy puts his 'secret' list on the table where we all can see it. "I think we have to split this into tasks and each work separately."

"That gives us eight tasks each, Sammy," Uncle Dal says doubtfully.

He's not really a doubtful guy; that alone is making me fucking doubtful, but then I remember. "Brad promised he'd come help today, but, um, he doesn't really know how to cook."

"We'll take all the help we can get sweetheart."

But it only takes a couple more hours for us to get stressed to hell. Why, oh why did Papa leave us? That was a bad fucking idea. It's not just Colt chaos like it was this morning when we felt like we had more time, it's insanity and it dawns on Daddy that we probably won't get everything done.

"I think…I think we're going to have to cancel some of this stuff off the list and maybe," he winces, "buy some of it." He looks like he's going to cry and it's breaking my heart.

Where the fuck is Brad?

Another hour passes and I'm up to my elbows in chicken batter, when Brad comes sauntering into the kitchen, Donald obviously having let him in, looking all calm and cool while we're fucking stress maniacs. "Hey, cowboy. Look'it you! You're cute enough to fry up and take a bite out of."

I am not in the mood for jokes. "Just where have you been Bradley Davis? I'm about to fish fry you."

"Whoa, whoa. Easy, sugar. I'm sorry. I was held up corralling all these fine gentlemen. Come on in boys."

In storms a sea of red and white football jackets, but it's not just the football players, we've got the entire football family: It's all the cheerleaders as well. The kitchen is quickly packed. "You don't mind I brought all my friends, do you Mr. Winchester?"

The look on Daddy's face is priceless—he's fucking speechless.

"He doesn't mind at all young Bradley. We thank-you," Uncle Dal answers for him. They know each other from church.

Brad comes over to give me a kiss. "Didn't I tell you I'd take care of you?"

I nod. "You did."

Daddy gets his shit together, after wiping away a few happy tears; transforms into the Captain of his ship Sam Winchester and begins directing his crew. He knows some of their names, many of the kids are either from church, or the club, but others he meets for the first time. Daddy's good at that. He's kind and he's gentle (even while ordering them about), he's always kept that soft southern charm and even the kids meeting him for the first time immediately like him.

Many of the girls and a few of the boys are trying not to freak over getting to make coleslaw with Dallas Colt. I can tell they want him to sign something of theirs, but they're being polite. I'm sure Dally will do something nice for them, for helping us later. I have to hold my laughter when I catch them, staring at him stupidly, while he gives them directions.

Brad helps me batter four hundred and eighty chicken breasts, drums and thighs. We'll still have to bake them all then Daddy's going to warm them up on the barbeque tomorrow before people eat them. He refuses to deep fry them.

More singing happens. Dally starts a few more songs and everyone ends up loving it, which surprises me. Shouldn’t teens think this is 'uncool' or something? Maybe it's the whole, 'he's a country superstar and everything he does is cool,' thing.

Everything's a bit slower and less organized than if we had the Colt crew in here (I swear, that side of our family can read each others minds when it comes to this kinda stuff,) but we're getting stuff done and we're doing a good job.

"How we looking over here Dean Bean?"

No, I don't care he calls me Dean Bean in front of the football jocks and cheerleaders. They can go fuck themselves if they have anything to say about it. "Looking good Daddy. I think we can start baking."

"I can't thank you enough for this, Bradley. Really. This was great," Daddy says.

"You don't have to thank me Mr. Winchester, but you're welcome. 'Sides, I learned a lot over this past week. I can jar beans in my sleep and batter a chicken breast like nobody's business," he says to Daddy, but he looks at me fondly. I think Brad just liked spending time with me, no matter what he was doing.

"Well I insist on thanking y'all. And I will do."


Dal's got a round of, 'Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,' going when my phone rings. It's Michael. Dean's all wrapped up in Brad. They are pretty darned cute. He's got chicken batter on his nose; Brad wipes it off of him and kisses the spot. They laugh together. Then Dean hip checks him; Brad responds by leaning into him. It's just…so easy for those two, and I like Brad, so much, but I'm biased. I can't help being on Team Michael.

I step out to answer Michael's call.

"Hello, Mr. Winchester."

"Hello Michael. Everything okay?"

"Well, I think so. Is Dean okay?"

"He's here battering chicken breasts with Brad. You should come over."

"Good. And I'm not coming over."

"Did you not hear the 'with Brad' part?"

"I did, and much as I don't like it, I need ol' football head to keep him busy when I can't."

"What's going on Michael?"

"He's suspicious. I fuc-uugded up."

"Start making sense, Sur."

"Okay, okay. You can put your scolding voice away. I shouldn't have seen him last night, but I missed him so much; worried about him all week," he sighs. "I was tired."

Michael explains how he fell asleep on Dean, which caused Dean to go Inspector Gadget on him and he had to tell a truth-lie to send him off course. He used the Texas trip to distract him.

"I should warn you, I had to use one other distraction, you'll find out on Sunday—"

"You showed him your death bike. Michael, if I find out—"

"I didn't take him on it."

"You better not have. I will find out."

He mutters something that sounds like, "I told him so."

"Was it at least successful?"

"I think so, but…it's the oddest thing Mr. Winchester. I think he wanted to see if I'd fall asleep on purpose, I think he tricked me."

I get what he's not saying. It isn't exactly easy to trick an angel. But a hunter; a hunter could trick an angel. My arm hairs start to prickle.

"Thankfully, his interrogation skills are deplorable. I think there's more of old Dean inside of our Dean than we know; maybe than he knows. I'm not even sure he did it on purpose, but never the less, he did trick me."

"What are you saying we do?"

"Me? I was calling you for an idea. I barely distracted him; short of taking him for a ride—"


"It's better than him running to bloody Lucifer," he shout whispers.

I exhale, loudly. "If it comes to that, I'm sure I can find it in my heart to forgive you, but only if it comes to that. Otherwise you can sit on my naughty step for two days."

"That hardly seems fair."

"As long as you keep my son off that bike, we won't have to worry about any codes of justice I might offend."

He laughs.

"You think that's funny? I'm serious."

"I don't doubt it. I just can't wait 'till Sunday."

I decide not to ask. "Brad is a good distraction. Too good. There's got to be something wrong with the guy," I say to myself.

"Hmm. Do I sense a bit of favoritism?" I can hear his Michael smirk through the phone.

"Don't let it go to your head."

"It's too late for that, but to answer your question, there isn't. I already had the guy checked out and other than moderate steroid usage, he's clean."

Moderate? I guess his brothers are pretty large too, some of that size could be genetic. "I guess he's our plan."

"Much as I hate to say it, it'll be good he's with Brad." He says Brad with a nails down a chalk board annoyance.

"Well Brad's keeping him busy today anyway, you sure you don't want to stop by? Dean's been talked to about last time. The three of you need to find a way to get along. As long as you behave too..."

"I can control myself, but that's not why I'm not coming over. I think it's better I give him space today. He's upset with me."

I don't even want to know what those two are fighting about now. It sounds like I'm going to hear about it on Sunday anyway. "All right. We'll see you tomorrow."


We get everything done, including the extra things I added…and even the ones Dally added (he is a Colt) and the kids have so much fun, that even the ones who are not members of our church, offer their help for tomorrow.

When Papa comes in and sees his house is over run by teenagers, his eyebrows climb onto his forehead. "What has the good Lord blessed upon me this time?"

"Wasn't the good Lord, it was Brad Papa." I smile at Papa and he nods his approval.

Daddy surprises us by ordering pizza from Mazetti's, the best pizza place in town (and the most expensive since they have Daddy approved quality ingredients). Over dinner, Daddy practically gives a speech thanking everybody.

"Your family's real cool, Dean," Mark says to me before he's leaving. "You and Brad free Monday at lunch? We should hit the school gym, like I've been saying."

I cran my neck to look behind me at Brad who's got his arms wrapped around my waist, crouched over since his chin is resting on my shoulder. "Let's do it babe," he says. "I'm free. My only plans were to hang out with you anyway."

"Okay," I say, though I'm not really thrilled about it. I like to eat during lunch. But he's been bugging me since the party of doom, I hope this will get him off my back.

It's getting late and Brad says he's gotta go. I don't want him to go. I wish Papa would let me have boyfriend sleepovers. Fuck. Did I just? Yeah, I fucking did. I referred to him as my boyfriend. But he's not right? Dean Winchester doesn't do boyfriends or girlfriends I just, fuck.

Except we haven't fucked. I didn't mean it at all though. Least I didn't say it out-fucking-loud.

Brad notices I'm having a minor, internal conniption. "What's wrong, babe?"

"Nothing babe. I just, don't know how to thank you."

"You don't owe me anything, but if you insist on it, I can think of a few ways…"

"I like the way you think, sugar. I have a place we can go. Be right back."

I catch Daddy and Papa, mid make-out, they hear me; jump apart and seem relieved when I tell them I'm taking Brad on a walk of the grounds.

I take him to ye old tree fort, better known now, as Dean's love shack. "Wow, sugar. This is some tree house," he says as his hand goes up my shirt, playing with nipple, his lips cover mine and his tongue is in my mouth.

My hands go to the waistband of his board shorts, I undo the tie and reach in to grab his nut sack, massaging it. "Mmmhmm. Feels good, babe. My cock was so hard for you all day."

"Yeah?" I start stroking said hard cock.

"Lord, yes. You looking at me with those pretty eyes 'a yours, not to mention your ass kept grazing my dick," he tells me between kisses.

"That was no accident, sugar." I pull my mouth off his in favor of pulling his pants and boxers off. "Get on your hands and knees, babe. I wanna make you feel, good."

It's almost ten and the sun's making its decent for the day, but there's still plenty of light I can see him and his massively huge cock. I spread his ass cheeks apart and lick up his crack, then use my tongue to play with his hole. He's already panting. "Feels, good. Jesus, Dean. Can you…can you put your finger inside?"

"Happy to oblige, sugar." I grab out some lube (of course I keep some in my tree fort), dribble some over his ass and rub it up and down his crack, then push my finger into his tight, presumably unused, hole, 'till it's encased in smooth muscle, sliding it in an out. He starts pushing back and moaning. Now what's the difference between my finger and a cock? I just don't fucking know, but I'm here to make him feel good tonight, so I decide not to be a dick and say anything.

Still twisting my finger in and out, I reach for his huge dick and pull it backward, so I can take it in my mouth. I know well the sensations of getting your dick sucked and your hole played with at the same time. It's an itchy, uncomfortable, dirty, awesome sort of feeling in your ass, mixed with the bliss of your cock all wet and sloppy.

Brad keeps pushing back, fucking my mouth and finger at the same time, and from the sounds he's making, he's fucking loving this. "Oh God, Dean baby, fuck."

I roll my tongue around the head and down the shaft, showcasing more of my talents. I can feel him getting closer and I'd say something brilliant like: 'Fill me baby,' if my mouth wasn't full of cock.

His thrusts become fast and jerky 'till I taste hot jizz in my mouth; of course I fucking swallow that shit, I'm a pro.

When I pop my mouth off his cock and take my finger out, he slumps down needing to catch his breath. "Jesus Christ Dean, where'd you learn how to do that?"
"Learn? That's a Dean Winchester special, babe. Call it one of my natural talents, like hockey and shooting." I don't know if shooting is a natural talent. I can't remember if I was a natural in my first life, but I do know that in this one, ever since my daddies permitted me to pick up a gun, I could shoot with it. They were both fucking amazed at my skill.

Huh. Guess sex could be from my first life too. Is it really possible for me to be such a man whore in both lives?

I lay down beside him and he flips to face me, his hand reaches out to toy with my bottom lip. "Will you marry me, Dean Winchester?"

My heart skips a half beat. I smack him.

"What was that for?"

"You will not ask me to marry you after a fucking orgasm high." I think it's the most assholish thing he's done so far. It's not really that assholish as far as assholory goes, but still. I deserve a lot more that and…fuck, the little flutter I got at the question confuses the fuck out of me.

"But I can ask you?"

Leave it to Brad to see that as a chance to score. "No. Now put your damn pants on," I huff and get up. Guess I'm pissed both the men in my life now. Speaking of, where the fuck was Michael today? He didn't even stop by. He hasn't called. Maybe he's still mad at me—what else is fucking new.

Brad puts his pants on and I can tell he feels bad. I know I'm over reacting. I know he means it; it's not just because he's sex drunk, I don't like how it made me feel.

He grabs my wrist, stopping me from leaving the tree fort. "Dean I'm sorry. Of course when I really ask you it will be amazing. I was trying to compliment you. Fuck, I'm sorry, don't…don't be mad at me." The pain in his voice fucking gets me and holy shit he actually dropped an f-bomb.

I let him pull me to him and he's trembling just the slightest bit. The big, strong, man child is trembing. He holds me and does some sort of breathing exercise to calm down. He lets out a big exhale. "Oh God Dean, I thought…I thought you were leaving me."

"Leaving you? I wasn't...I was just...forget it. It's not a big deal, I was being a spazz." I put my arms around him. "Can we just forget it, please?"

"It's forgotten." He pulls away. "I hate to leave you on this note sugar, but it's ten."

"Aw no. You can stay. I just have to be home by ten. They'll let you stay."

"They will?"

"Yeah, well, depending on Papa's mood, but if my guess is right, his mood is damn good right now. I'm fairly sure my parents are, um…" He doesn't make me say it, I can see he gets my meaning.

"In that case, let me make it up to you." He reaches for the waistband of my shorts.

To my fucking surprise, I stop him. "I think I'd rather, um, that is can we…"

"Are you wantin' I should cuddle you Dean Winchester?" he says laying his accent on extra cheesy and thick.

"The stars are coming out." Yes I'm the one who fucking said that, no I'm not possessed.

"Whatever you want, Dean. C'mere." He grabs one of the larger pillows and sets us up on the 'porch' of the tree fort, so we're lying with our heads on the pillow and he's got me all tucked into him, spooning like no tomorrow. "This what you wanted?" he says in my ear softly as he starts rubbing my back.

I take a deep breath and sigh into him. Is this what I want? Right now everything seems... "This is good."

We're quiet for a bit and my thoughts are scattered thinking about everything all at once.

"I gotta know if you forgive me Dean."

I laugh. "I forgive you."

"That scared the life outta me Dean and it made me realize something."


"I really can't lose you. I mean, I always knew it was going to be you in the end, somehow, some way, but I never felt what losing you might feel like. I just did and it's the worst thing I ever felt. I'm going to win your heart Dean Winchester, and I always play to win."

Chapter Text

"C'mon Gracie May, let's get you all dressed up to see Grandaddy," I say to my sweet girl.


"Yeah, babe?"

"How long does it take to dress an infant? Let's go. Team bus leaves in five minutes."

"Lordy bee Bradley, you wanna tell that to our daughter, she just woke up!" I yell down the stairs. "Papa and the boys can hold their horses, can't they?" I coo at her. "Beauty takes time."

I take my fucking time changing her diaper and putting the prettiest dress I can on her. I head out to the car and buckle her into the seat in the middle of her older brothers. "He's making faces at me Daddy," little Sammy says.

"It's not nice to tattle, Sammy," I say.

"Yeah, Sammy," Junior says.

"I better not catch you making faces at your brother, Sur."

"Hey! I thought you said—"

"Why hasn't Papa knocked your heads together, yet?"

"Hey don't look at me. I told them to knock it off. They were quiet 'till just now, baby," he gives me his boyish Brad smile I love.

I kiss him. "What's the hurry, babe?" I buckle myself in.

"Your parents said they want to set out before noon."

Oh right, we're going on the boat.

When we get there Daddy and Papa are standing there with Michael and another little boy, who looks just like Michael, but has green eyes like me. "Hey there, son," Papa says to Brad, embracing him in a warm fatherly hug.

"There's my special girl. Come see Granddaddy, Gracie." Daddy steals the baby from me.

"Hey! What am I, chopped liver?" I say to Daddy, but I'm only kidding. Being a grandparent looks good on him.

"You know I love you Dean Bean."

The boys are already chasing each other and tossing a football around the large yacht. "Hey you two, we don't live in a barn—tossing footballs around is for outside," I tell them.

"We are outside."

"Papa?" I say, he loves stepping in for this sort of thing I'll let him, I mean I am only seventeen, I don't know how to handle this stuff yet.

"I don't think so, Dean. I don't do that anymore. But you are right—do get them to stop."

What the? What happened to Papa? Handle this on my own? "Brad? Sweetie?"

"Aw, let'em have fun, Dean."


"What's that Dean Bean?"

"Oh just forget it." Why is no one acting like themselves?

"Can I be of assistance?" Michael says.

"Jesus, please."

"Here, take our son."

He hands me the sweet little boy and I sit him on my hip naturally. "Hey there, pumpkin."

"Hi Dah-dee."

We watch as Michael storms over to the boys, catches their football mid-throw, confiscating it.

"Hey!" Sammy says. "Daddy, he took our ball."

"I told him, to."

"Come with Granddaddy and Gracie May, boys, I've got snacks for you," Daddy says.

Finally. Someone acting normal. "Thank God, Daddy." He leads the boys away, I've still got the green-eyed boy on my hip.

Papa passes a beer to Michael and soda water to Brad and I and I drink one handed swaying…shit, I can't remember his name, Michael's and my son.

It's stressing me out that I can't remember his name. He cuddles into me and I think he's falling asleep.

Michael's watching me while Papa and Brad talk. "I caught my own pass, and scored a touchdown," he tells Papa. Why does that sound familiar?

The little toddler I love so, so much is asleep on me before I know it and fuck, I still can't fucking remember his name.

"Well you look about to shove off," Michael says finishing his beer. "We'd better get going."

"Going? You're not coming?" I say.

"Three's a crowd, come mini-duck," he says to our son who's fast asleep.

"But…no," I say as he reaches for him. "Can't he stay with me?"

"'Fraid not."

Suddenly the boys are standing with Brad and he's got Gracie. I can't see Daddy or Papa. Where are they? "C'mon, Sugar. It's time to go," Brad says.

"You have to choose Dean," Michael says as I clutch our son for dear life.

"I don't want to choose…I…Michael…"

"Give him here Dean."

"No." I don't even know his name.

"Then you have to come with me too," Michael says.

Little Gracie starts crying. "Daddy's coming sweetheart," Brad says to her.

I take a step toward my baby girl, Michael stops me. "Give me him first, if you want them, have them, but you don't get him."

But I love him.

"Michael please," I start backing away and back right into Papa who's there again. "Oh thank god, Papa. Can you please explain to Michael why he," the little boy on my hip, "has to stay with me?"

"Sorry Dean. You're and adult now, you've got to figure your problems out all by yourself."

What? That doesn't sound like Papa at all. "Papa, I'm only seventeen. Please, help me."

Papa's gone and it's just Michael and I now, the little boy is gone and I've got Gracie May instead. "Where is he? Where did he go? Michael, what did you do with our son?" I start to crying and so does the baby, I bounce her.

"Don't cry Duck. Who are you looking for?"

"Him. Our son. Don't be an ass."

"We don't have a son Dean. You have two sons with football head and her."

"C'mon Sugar, it's time to go…" Brad says.

"Wait. I've got to find him. Michael, please."

"Sugar wake up, it's almost time to go," Brad says. No wait. That's not Brad. It sounds more like Daddy.

"Dean Bean? Sweetheart?"

I come crashing awake and stare at Daddy, who's looking at me funny. "Oh thank God, it was just a dream."

Daddy shakes his head. "Get moving, Sur, or you're going to be late."

"Time izzit?" Wow, I slept right through my alarm. Brad stayed 'till midnight then we spent all night texting when he got home.

"Six. Get dressed and come down for breakfast."

I do and though Papa looks like he's in a better mood than he has been of late, he's got his, 'I'm unimpressed with you, young man,' look on. I have no idea what I've done this time, but boy am I ever glad to see it. "'Morning Papa," I say.

"Just what time were you up 'till Mr. Winchester? You knew you had to be up early. I expect you in bed early tonight."

"Yes, sir. Anything you say, just promise me something?"

He and Daddy are both looking at me funny now. "Dare I say yes?"

"Please never stop being you."


"You know? Tell me what to do, like you just did and some day, if I have kids who are playing football on your yacht—"

"If my grandchildren are foolish enough to play football on my yacht, they'll be over my knee and you'll be next. Understood?"

Music to my ears. "Yes, Papa." I smile so wide it hurts my face.

Daddy gives me orange juice and breakfast. "Football on a yacht?"

"Yeah, in my dream. I had all these kids, but I was only seventeen and so was Brad. I don't know how old Michael was, but we've never known that. And no one was acting right, well except you Daddy. You took my baby and ignored me."

"I'd never ignore you Dean Bean."

"In favor of your grandbaby? We'll see."

"How'd I look, all old and granddaddy-like?" Daddy says.

"Actually, you both looked the same as you do now, like you hadn't aged at all. It was a messed up dream."

It creeps me the fuck out all through breakfast, but thankfully by the time we get to the church it's long forgotten…almost.


"Here you go Cassy, I'm giving you an important job—you're going to assign everyone to their station."

I'm not stupid. I've been given the 'get the top out of the way' assignment. Not to mention, he's already done it all for me. All I have to do is look at the sheet he's written out and point. That's okay, I plan on sorting him out later and our son, who I'm pretty sure was up all night on his cell phone.

They think I don't know what they get up to. I simply allow them a certain amount of chaos. Sam is a full Colt and Dean's at least half, I know what my boys need. I also know when they need to be set straight.

Michael comes sauntering in, Sam's still standing over me; I'm seated at the table at the entrance to the church. "Hello, sirs," he says to both of us. At least the boy is respectful.

I nod and am about to tell him where he goes, do my job, when Sam steps in for me.

"You're at the bean station, Michael."

"Beans?" he says his outrage apparent. "If I never hear about pickled beans again, it will be too soon."

"Fine, I can move you to the jam station, but that means Brad will be with Dean on the beans."

"The bean station is fine, sir." He heads off in that direction.

"That was my job," I complain.

"Sorry, Cassy. I didn't mean to take your job. I'll leave you to it."

I shake my head. "Come here a sec."

He prepares himself for a scolding, but I pull him down by the neck of his shirt to my lips and kiss the hell out of him. "Be good, Baby."

A few of the other parent volunteers arrive and I direct them to their location, I also take a peek over at Michael and Dean. They're setting up their bean station, like they're supposed to, but they've got a bit of tension between them. It doesn't seem to matter, they still move like a well, oiled machine, while Dean gets ticked at Michael for something I can't hear, and the look on Michael's face says he's saying one of his witty rejoinders in return. That cracks Dean up and they laugh 'till they end up staring at each other. Michael reaches out to touch Dean's face, Dean smiles at him shyly; it's like they've never met before and are falling in love again right before my eyes. Then Michael leans in to give him a chaste kiss on the lips—my son is swooning.

The beans are soon forgotten as Michael pulls my son to him and Dean responds in kind grinding against him. "Dean Winchester!" I shout across the isle. We've got tables set out all across the grass in front and behind the church, with plenty of room left for people to lay down picnic blankets. There are games in the parking lot as well as the large tent with food, where Sam will be most of the time. He'll be all over the place, really, but I know the food will keep him busy. When this job is done, I'm definitely going to check on him.

Dean remembers where he is and pulls away from Michael, dropping him like a hot coal. "Sorry, Papa!"

I shake my head at him, but leave it at that. Teenagers.

At around nine am, Brad shows up with his football family. I assign them all to their respective table, or game, or station as per my Sam chart. Brad looks disappointed to be without Dean, but he doesn't complain.

He's been seeing a lot of my son lately and I think it's time to start turning up the heat on this boy. Whoever gets my son in the end has to get through me first. Michael's put in a lot of hard work, has even won some points with me over the years, enough that I've essentially said yes to an official courtship between the two. Yet I still don't know I want to give my son to that cocky, know it all, angel.

But now there's Brad. I didn't think this thing between him and Dean was serious, but after yesterday, I need to reconsider. Either way, Brad has his work cut out for him.

By nine thirty, my miniscule job is done and my real job can begin. First I go peek in on Sam. He's clearly in Captain of the ship mode, running around like a Colt with his head cut off, ordering people around, getting ready to do the food for the lunch, which is in two hours. I don't let him see me and sneak off to check in on our son.

"Michael can you take over for me for a sec? We're running out of fives, I have to go see if we can get more, or we're fucked."

He's lucky Sam can't hear him.

Dean leaves and Michael's left watching the Bean stand looking unimpressed. I'm about to leave and follow after Dean, but I see Brad approach and can't help but want to hear what these two say to each other. I swear, my son's life is becoming a soap opera. This is the Dean of Our Lives…

Michael smirks at him with his Michael smirk, sitting back in his chair, amused that the giant human is approaching him. "Hey football head," he says.

I have to snicker at that, it is kinda funny. The kid seems nice, but he is obsessed with football; I'm surprised it hasn’t annoyed the fuck out of Dean yet—Dean must like this kid a lot.

Brad looks like he wants to pummel Michael; he's definitely holding back. "Look, I know you don't like me. I don't like you much either."

"Thanks for taking the time to come over here and state the obvious, run along now little boy."

Wow. Michael really does hate this kid. Does he feel threatened by him?

"I was going to call a truce, for Dean's sake. That's why I'm here. You don't deserve him, you know."

"And you do?"

"Probably not, but I'm going to spend my life trying to be worthy of him."

Fuck the kid is smooth. Where did this kid come from? I like what I'm hearing so far.

"So we're two unworthy opponents fighting for the same, 'prize.'"

"Dean isn't some prize. This is exactly what I'm talking about. You think you own him—that he's your possession. I see the way you treat him."

"I don't think Dean is a prize. I was speaking in metaphors, but I guess that's too much for your tiny football addled brain to comprehend."

Brad has to work harder to hold himself back. "Look buddy, I came over here to form a truce for Dean's sake, but I can see you're just an unreasonable Prick. Forget it. But know this, your time with Dean is up. There's only so much of your bullshit he can take, especially when he has something better on offer."

Michael smiles wide. He's toying with him and he's won, Brad's angry. "Thank-you for the news flash. I'll be sure to note that. Anything else?"

If Brad wanted to pummel him before, now he's going to do it.

"Yeah, one more thing. I'd rather not use violence to get my point across, but I'm prepared to in this case. If you continue to hurt Dean, I'm going to have to do something about it."

Michael acts just as he should: A spider who's just been threatened by a fly. Brad really has no idea who he's dealing with. "I sincerely hope you do."

Brad's about to walk away, but Michael stops him. "Oh, I do have one thing to tell you, Bradley; something you might be interested in."

"Yeah? What's that?"

His voice goes a little lower, but I can still hear from where I am. "You know what the loveliest sight in the world is?"

"Okay, Michael, I'll bite, what?"

"Dean moaning beneath you, with your cock up his ass—you should try it sometime."

Yeah, yeah. You don't have to say it: Eavesdroppers seldom hear things they want to, I've told Dean often enough. I know Michael is fucking my son; I'm not stupid. No I don't like hearing what I just heard, but I think I know what he's up to. It's very twistedly…sweet.

I still want to skin Michael alive.

That one sentence got Michael everything he wanted. Brad is flustered. That's when Dean comes back. "Okay, what's going on you two?"

"Nothing at all, Duck," Michael says. "We were just forming a truce, weren't we Bradley?"

No he didn’t say football head, but the way he said Bradley reminds me a lot of football head.

"Hey Sugar. Yeah, I came over here to form a truce."

No one's lying per se, but they're not telling the truth either. Dean knows; they're not exactly doing a good job of hiding their animosity. "Right you two. Just play nice, or I'll kick both your asses."

That's my boy.

"Well I'll come by later, Sugar. Will you grab a bite with me?"

Dean looks back at Michael, Michael doesn't say a word or give any inclination of his thoughts on that matter. "Let me get back to you, babe. I might have to help Daddy later anyway—he doesn't have enough Colts."

And that's my cue. Dean must have caught a glimpse of Sam to say something like that. I'd better go find out what my dear husband is doing; I'll have to tune in for another episode of This is the Dean of Our Lives later.


"What the fuck Michael?"

"He came over here. I was minding my own bean station."

"And I'm sure you did nothing to provoke him? Glaring at him across the isles counts for nothing does it? Don't think I didn't see."

"Oh that." He smiles not apologizing for his behavior at all.

"I'm warning you, Sur, behave yourself."

"That's hot—going all Daddy Winchester on me. You going to put me on the naughty step baby?"

"Ew. Michael."

He laughs and pulls me to sit on his lap. "You're cute when you get all scoldy—I like it."

That reminds me. "Well you should have seen me scolding away in the dream I had, more like a nightmare."


I give him the Cole's notes and I think he'll be laughing, but instead he's pissed. "You couldn't remember our son's name, but you had three special names picked out for his spawn?"

"It was a fucking stupid nightmare, Michael. Like I had any control over it."

"I know you sit there at lunch talking about things like that, naming your fucking children."

"Oh my God. I can't believe we're fighting over this, it wasn't even real, it was supposed to be funny."

"Well it's not. Poor mini-duck."

That gets me. I remember his sweet little face. Truth be told, it fucking bothered me I didn't have a name for our mythical son either—it's not like we're ever going to have one, but it still bothered me. "He didn't have a name, bcause he's never going to exist, so don't fucking make me feel guilty with this bullshit Michael."

"Neither are your other 'children,'" he says, clearly without thinking. "But they still get names."

"You're an asshole. How could you say something like that? You wanna know the real reason he doesn't get a name? Because I want it so bad, so fucking bad with you, I don't even want to entertain the fantasy. If I come up with a name for our kid, I'll want him Michael and it will hurt too much. But you don't have to worry about my 'other' children, they'll never exist either, will they? Because I'm fucking stuck with you."

I'm surrounded by fucking pickled beans, tears tracking down my face, and a frozen angel beside me. That was enough to shut both of us up. I wipe away my tears quick when the next customer comes; sell eighteen jars of beans to one lady (people are loving Daddy's beans) and slump down in my chair to sit in silence with said frozen angel. Neither of us can look at each other. We both said the ultimate, in dick level things to one another, so all we can do is sit in fucking death silence.

"Duck, I…" Michael starts to say, but we're interrupted.

"Dean. I've been trying to get a hold of you for days. Can you take a break?"

I've never been so fucking glad to see Hannah. I finally look at Michael. He nods, "I'm okay on my own. I think we need more fives again, can you bring some back? And see if you can get your hands on some Windex for me. Some of the bean jars could use a wipe."

Fuck. Michael's going angel OCD on me. I shouldn't leave him, but I could use a fucking break from this shit. "Sure, Baby. I think I know where I can get some Windex." I make sure to kiss his cheek. We fight, say and do shitty things to one another, but it doesn't mean I don't fucking love him like stupid.

Hannah and I walk away, down the many isles of things for sale, but I don't bother looking. "What's up Han?"

"Not here Dean. Somewhere private."

Fuck. I'm about to have another bomb dropped on me, aren't I?

I take her to the Impala. I drove since we needed extra vehicles to bring all the shit Daddy needed to. I open the back seat for her, I'd rather us attempt to hide if we can and from here we can duck down if need be.

She slides in and all the way over, I hop in after her. "What's going on?"

"I did it, Dean. You've been all Sweet Valley High with your love life lately, so I did it myself and I did a damn good job."

"I have not been Sweet Valley High."

She rolls her eyes. "Even the fact that, that's the first thing you're concerned about…I have ground breaking finds Dean!"

"Shh!" I say looking around. Fuck, I'm so fucked right now. I have a bad feeling as to what her 'finds' are and I should stay far away from said finds, but she's my best friend and I'm worried about her. "Okay, Nancy Drew, lay it on me."

"I went to visit Old man Miller."

I smile at her, because that's something like what they'd say on scooby-doo…old man Miller, that cracks me up. "And he believed you were a junior police officer, or whatever?"

"No silly. I couldn’t use that without you, I was Ann Wilson, reporter for the school paper working on a special graduate issue."

I don't point out how that's just as ridiculous, not to mention all the things that could have gone wrong with her plan. From the look on her face, it somehow managed to work and I'm glad she waited 'till after she'd executed her plan, to tell me.

"Mr. Miller is crazy Dean. Like, legit insane, wait 'till you hear what he told me."

That explains it. Only someone crazy would believe something crazy. "Insane? Hannah, you could have got yourself in real trouble."

"No, not that kind of crazy. The harmless kind of crazy, like you know, believes in spirits and things."

Oh, sweet, sweet, Hannah. I want to face palm.

"Mr. Miller, technically Dr. Miller, is totally the kind of guy I could see at Comic-Con, but that's not why he's insane, he's obsessed with myth and archeological stuffs. He reminds me a lot of Indiana Jones, because he actually is an archeologist; has his Ph.D in Archeology and is kinda cute in a Harrison Ford type way—it's why he's away a lot. He's a smart guy, really cool and crazy. He was more than happy to give me something to write about; he thought the kids should know what happened—he said the police wouldn't believe him."

I know why all of that sounds familiar; I've heard that last line before, even if I can't actually recall a time when I've heard it—I just know. I know who I used to be; it's all, eerie, déjà vu like feelings because I don't remember. Even the stuff I do remember is fairly hazy. My skin prickles.

"He said it was demons Dean. Demons! See? Crazy right?"

"Yeah. That is crazy. I mean who would believe that?" Oh God. No one I hope.

"I know right? For a moment, I thought he was onto me and inventing a story, but then he took me to see some of his archaeological finds, Dean, I wish you could have been there with me; it was so fucking fascinating. I think I'm switching my major—I want to be an archaeologist. Dr. Miller said I could be his apprentice."

"Jesus Christ, Han. You go over there once and now you're the man's fucking Luke Skywalker? He thinks your name is Ann Wilson—how's that going to work?"

"Quit raining on my parade, I'll figure all that out. Anyway, he took me way down into this crazy secret room and showed me some of his cool finds, but there was something he wasn't showing me and I'll bet there's a secret-secret room in his secret room."

"I don't mean to rain on your parade again, but if this guy is crazy, what's to say he wouldn't lock you up in that secret-secret room? Add you to his fucking collection?"

"I'm telling you, he wasn't that kind of crazy. Dr. Miller is a sweet man."

"With secret vaults and believes in demons…"

"Shh. Just listen. I'm so fucking smart, you're going to love this. I asked him what demons could want from his collection and you know what he said?"

I'm afraid to ask, but I say, "what?"

"Demons aren't the only ones who want it. Angels want it to."

That's when my blood runs cold.

All of this I knew. I know about 'the object,' I know both Angels and Demons are looking for it, but the way she's leading up to her climax (pun intended) gets me all fucking juiced again. My heart starts beating hard, probably in response to the fucking cold blood.

"He wouldn’t tell me what the object is, said he'd like to, but couldn't actually, and that he didn't have it anyway, but I figured it out. This is the part you'll like. I bullshitted like never before and asked him if he couldn't just give me a hint. Do you know what he said?"

"What Hannah?" I wish she'd just get to it. I feel like I'm in a fucking soap opera the way she's dragging this out for weeks.

"And as we wind on down the road. Our shadow's taller than our soul. There walks a lady we all know, who shines white light and wants to show, how everything still turns to gold. And if you listen very hard. The tune will come to you at last, when all are one and one is all."

"But…that's the lyrics to Stairway," I say fucking confused.

She smiles and waits for it.

My heart starts fucking racing as I do fucking figure it out. The lady who's sure all that glitters is gold…Fucking Lucifer is buying a stairway to heaven.

Chapter Text

"The object is a Stairway to Heaven?"


"But I thought you said he wouldn't tell you?"

"Couldn't. I figured it out, once I guessed he was able to confirm it."

"All of this sounds suspect. I'm going to suspend the obvious reasons and assume you know them and jump right to this one: Why would he tell all of this to Ann Wilson, student reporter?"

"He was hoping I'd tell more people; he's worried—he thinks the end of the world is nigh and that it's all a big police cover-up."

This time I do face palm. "Look Hannah, don't tell anyone else this, okay?"

"Of course not—they'll just think I'm nuts."

"You weren't afraid I'd think you're nuts?"

"You already know I am."

To tell her, or not to tell her…I don't fucking know. I've got to keep her away from all this bullshit, but what if this just drives her to it?

"Anyway, it's just some kooky old dude, but what a story!"

"Is your curiosity satisfied?"

"Well, yeah, I mean I want to see what this thing looks like, but not even Dr. Miller knows where it is. It's ancient, some old, old, secret."

I can't help, but wonder why 'they' thought he had it.

"Pretty cool though, huh?"

"Yeah. Cool."

"You don't look like you think it's cool. The Stairway to Heaven is just some legend, anyway. These 'demons' and 'angels' looking for it are on a wild goose chase."

"Do you believe that part? About the demons and the angels?"

"No. They're probably just some gang thinking they can cash this 'rare' object in for a whole bunch of money—like I said, the guy is nuts."

I'm glad she thinks so. Saves me a whole bunch of explaining.

"What's wrong? You look upset. Oh, let me guess, Michael? Or is it Brad this time? He's been too perfect, you two have got to fight sometime."

"Michael," I go with. Not only is it true, it's usual. I'd rather her think I'm 'upset' over my love life. "And a little bit Brad. I've got to figure out which one I'm going to the picnic with."

And speaking of Michael, I've got to find fives and Windex and get back. I hop out of the car.

She does too. "I'd like to help you out, but I'm going with Mark."

"You're staying? I thought these church functions were you know, too churchy for you?" Hannah and her parents aren't members of our church; they're the 'God has no religion types,' and they're a bit hipster, so they don't really do the 'church' thing, but since this church fundraiser is something we put on for the community (so they can give us money for our church) Hannah came with us last year. She swore she'd never come again.

"I'm here for the food. Your daddy makes the best food and I want some pie."

"You can just come over to the house for that."

"And I want to make-out with Mark in a pew."

Okay, that's fucking funny. "You're the best Han."

"I know. But what I was going to suggest; how about take someone else all together?"

"Like who? It can't be a football family member because of Brad—I think that might start another kind of fight and all the others are either taken, or so not believable for me to be seen with."

"How about her?"

"Harlow? She's like an older sister." She is hot though and almost thirty. I've never hit that; I think Daddy would have a fit. I'm not exactly sure why, I just do.

"Which is perfect. It looks like she's just here with friends."

"I'll think about it."

When I leave Hannah, I somehow manage to find fives (Mrs. McCleary the treasurer still has a bunch in the petty cash, thank god) and Windex and a clean rag (in the church's cleaning supplies storage room). I also stop and grab a snack off of Daddy, I'm fucking starving, as well as something from the other tables of ladies who have brought things. I haven't eaten since breakfast. The lunch has begun, but I've still got to man the beans for another hour 'till we shut down.

I head straight back to Michael, who's helping old Mrs. Ableman stack beans into her little white gramma grocery cart—she's buying like twenty jars and all I can think is 'thank God, that's, one hundred and twenty dollars, we don't have to give away our fucking fives for change.' The usual order is one or two jars and people hand us twenties. That's a lot of fucking fives we have to give away.

"Hello Mrs. Ableman," I say.

"Hello, dear. How are you Dean? You're so big now. I still remember when you were a little mite, running around this place giving your daddies heart attacks."

"I'd think they'd say I still do. I'm good. Thanks for buying so many beans."

"They're the best. I'll do my best to say hello to your daddy and papa, but you'll pass along my thanks, won't you dear?"

"Yes, ma'am. Do you need help to your car with those?"

"I'm okay. I am getting older, but I've still got a little spunk in me. I can get this cart there."

Mrs. Ableman. Such a sweet old lady.

"How are sales?" I ask. I can feel the weird tension peeling off of Michael and all of the bean jars we've got on display are awfully straight.

"It's crazy. I know we were selling mostly one and two this morning, but we've had orders more like Mrs. Ableman's since you left. One lady bought fifty jars, said she was using them as Christmas gifts."

I shrug. "Whatever you're into. I, uh, got you one those pretzel things you like."

"Awesome, but fuck, Sam didn't see, did he?"

"Am I stupid? I got one for me too." Mrs. Barker always brings these special pretzel buns, but Daddy won't let either of us eat them. Michael tried explaining to Daddy once, that he's an angel and there is no possible way a pretzel bun could harm his vessel; that conversation did not end well for Michael.

We keep them hidden as we eat them, feeling like thieves and continue to sell beans. When Michael's finished his contra-bun, he starts on cleaning the jars a little with the Windex, both of us not knowing how to fucking address the major lines we crossed. Sorry just doesn't seem enough.

We're both heartbroken and regretful. He's nervous in a way I've never seen him be nervous. I'm jittery, which is maybe the same fucking thing.

He has to put his Windex down when we suddenly get an over pouring of people at around twelve forty-five. Beans fly out of the boxes and off the table so fast, we can barely keep up.

"I heard about these beans from…"

"My son told me these are the best beans and to make sure to get ten jars…"

"My daughter insisted I stop by on my way to…"

Many of the people end up being 'football family parents,' or aunts, or grandmother's, uncles, friends, even cousins.

Brad stops by again toward the end of our bean rush. "I wanted to make sure to get my jar of beans while the most beautiful bean merchant in the county was still here. I'll take six and I've got exact change," he winks.

Michael's busy helping other customers. I put Brad's order together. "Did you send all those people?"

"What people?" he says innocently.

"The football people."

"Word may have gotten around, but it wasn't just me—the whole team mentioned it, here and there. We take care of each other; I told you Dean."

I smile at him. "Daddy'll be happy. I think we're going to sell out. He'll get to tell Papa 'I told you so.'" Not that he actually will, though Papa is going to have to suffer through a few rounds of, 'if only we had seven hundred jars, Cassy,' before Papa puts a stop on him.

"So how about that picnic, Sugar?"

"I finish here in half an hour. I'll text you if I can, okay?"

He nods.

"How are jam sales?" I ask before he heads off.

"Sold out an hour ago—we didn't have five thousand jars to sell. I've been walking around with Ryan; he's gone off with Kelsey."

We sell out way before two, but Michael and I are busy right up until the last jar. We do smile at each other when the last one is gone feeling accomplished.

"I know Brad wants you to have lunch with him; I think you should."

"Why? Because you feel guilty about before?"

"Yes. Besides, I'm going to see you tonight."

I nod, and look around this time before I kiss him just in case Papa's around. He caught us earlier this morning and I thought he was going to kill me.

"Okay, I'll see you tonight. Where will you be 'till then?"

"I'd better go see if Daddy Winchester needs help if you're not."


I might as well have just directed Dean and Brad's sex tape, because I think I've sent Brad head long into sex with Dean. He's going to catch a pass in the fucking end zone. Not only that, but I've made Dean irreparably hate me.

I did it half on purpose. The sex part not the hating. I never want Dean to hate me. I know he would like football head's huge ogre sized cock…at least he did and if he still does I want him to have it, even if I don't want him to have it. I'm a stupid, love-sick fool. No wonder humans have so many songs about this ridiculous feeling. It makes you utterly miserable three times as much as you feel a smidgeon of pure joy.

I slink over to Daddy Winchester who looks to be in his element. He's stressed, but not overly so. I'm sure Papa Winchester had something to do with that, but he's nowhere in sight—thankfully.

"May I be of assistance?" I say like I'd rather be jumping off a bridge. Not that, that would do anything for me, I mean it metaphorically. Human metaphorically.

Sam takes the time to look me over. "What happened to you? No wait. I don't have time at the moment for the Dean and Michael soap opera. I'll be all ears later, but right now I'm working. I'm actually all good food wise, but I have one really strange job that needs tending to, and I know it's something you're good at."

"What?" I'm actually afraid to ask.

He reaches into a stroller I didn't see and pulls out a sleepy little guy, with dark hair. He looks pissed off.

"You're looking after a baby while you do all this?"

"I've done much more looking after several babies. He can stay with me if you'd really rather not, but he'd be better entertained with you."

"How did it get here?"

"It is Michael and I offered when his mother had an emergency."

The man is insane. Orchestrating all this, while offering to look after toddlers. Sam is smiling far too wide, loving the fact the child shares my name.

"Michael? Really? What's his middle name, Dean?" I say sarcastically.


"Really?" I say again.

He's laughing. "No, but you should see your face."

"Not funny," I snarl.

"Here," he says handing it off and leaving me no choice but to take him and slinging a diaper bag over my shoulder.

"I didn't agree to this."

"I thought you were offering your help?"

"Fine." I set the child on my hip and he curls into me, not seeming to mind that I'm a total stranger. He's still asleep and sucking on a soother.

"He's about two and a half and he can actually talk pretty well, much better than Dean could at that age. He'll tell you want he wants, but he shouldn't need much. His mama texted an hour ago, said she'd be here by three thirty. Maybe just a diaper change? I know you know how to do that."

"This had better buy me major brownie points," I say and bounce the little guy. He is kind of cute, but don't tell anyone I think so. "Say, a pretzel bun?"

He thinks about it. "All right, one pretzel bun. You can bring little Michael back in an hour—I'll be all done here and I can take him 'till his mama gets back. Bring him around to see the games or something."

I can't wait to show off my second pretzel bun to Dean. I begrudgingly carry my little bundle away from the food tents and toward the games. He wakes up more and looks at me with a clear, 'who the fuck are you?' expression and I don't blame him. What was Sam thinking passing him off like that?

"I'm Michael, like you." That makes him smile and I've instantly won him over. Right. Humans always like when you have the same name as them.

"I'm going to take you to the games, is that okay?"

He appears to be thinking about it. "Mama?"

Yeah, he's probably looking for his mama. "She says it's okay," I lie.

I take him around to the various games; all clearly too big for him. Of course I bump into Brad and Dean. I've been trying not to think about Dean. I'm a colossal idiot, but I'd be lying if I said the things he said didn't hurt me too. I'm an angel, but I'm not made of stone. His eyes bug out of his head when he sees me with the little guy.

Oh right. His majorly fucked up dream and the reason we're arguing in the first place. How could I forget? We all know by now I'm being sarcastic, yes?"

I should be making it up to him, but he's with Brad and yes, I know, I told him to go, but I still like it about as much as I'd like a barium enema.

"Look Michael," I say rather loudly. "Do you know Dean?" Yes, I'm a terrible angel, I've just used a child in my schemes.

But fuck. He does know Dean.

"Dean!" He squirms to get down and runs to him.

Dean picks him up and squeezes him. "What'cha doing away from your mama cowboy?"

He points at me, "Mike." Dean laughs, he knows how much I hate being called 'Mike.'

"Well these games are all too big for you, the little guy games are on the other side and Uncle Dal is over there with his guitar singing some kid classics. How about we all go together?" Dean suggests.

He pretends to be oblivious to the way Brad and I look each other up and down and come to a silent agreement. We both get it; Dean wants the kid with him, but he's my responsibility, so if Dean wants him then I come too. Plus, I have the added knowledge that Dean is wigged out by his dream and he seems to want to rewrite it somehow.

Both Brad and I are willing to give Dean what he wants, so neither of us complain, but we both want to dismember the other.

Dallas is on the grass behind the church where he's got a whole bunch of kids surrounding him, dressed like a farmer in overalls, tank top, and a straw hat. Dallas is a really good looking guy, so he's got a lot of moms and dads oogling him as they pretend they are solely there for their children.

Dean still has Michael, having completely stole him from me. I don't mind. Not that I don't like the kid, but it's making Dean so happy. He's not ready to admit it yet, but he does want a little family. I can never give that to him. But maybe something can be arranged. A secret child. With the angels from which I've gained loyalty, maybe it's a possibility. If Dean were to adopt a baby on his own, he has that prerogative, maybe I could somehow manage to be a 'weekend Dad'…I know, I know. No need to rain on my parade, I can already foresee the many problems with that scenario, I'm just brainstorming. Call me selfish, but I'm not ready to wave the white flag at Brad just yet. There's got to be someway I can give Dean everything he wants.

But for now, I just enjoy watching him.

He sits on the grass with little Michael on his lap, while they sing the 'I am a Pizza,' song with the other kids and Dallas.

I'm left standing with Brad and I can't help myself. "I'm so looking forward to later. Has Dean showed you his tree house yet? Do you know I've fucked him twenty-six times in there? Maybe tonight we'll go for an even thirty."

"Dean isn't just an object for me to fuck," he says seething. "When I make love to Dean for the first time, I want it to be special."

Who is this kid? With responses like that, I'm starting to feel like the villain in a soap opera. "Well if you wait 'till your wedding night, it'll never happen. He's not going to marry you. He's going to marry me." No I don't know how I'm going to manage that one, but it's just fucking football head. I can make him all the 'promises' I want that I can't keep.

He gives me a squinted look. "You want to marry Dean? All you do is hurt Dean. He wouldn't say why, but I can tell he's heartbroken right now and I know it's because of something you did."

I look over to Dean, he looks happy right now, singing with Michael, but I know Brad's right, much as I hate to give him points on anything, I knew when I told Dean to go with Brad he was heartbroken. I thought it would cheer him up; not having to be around the guy he's apparently 'stuck with.'

Since my taunting is not working quite as well as it did before, I shut up. I'm being childish—not to say I didn't enjoy myself. I know it got to him. Just because he knows how to get to me, doesn't mean I didn't get to him.

Dean comes back and little Michael actually wants to come to me. "Mike?" he says to Dean. Dean passes him over to me. He's a little guy, but he's solid like Dean was.

"Do you need your diaper changed?" I ask like I would have Dean.

"Um, I think you've got to check, Michael. I was a moddler, remember? I understood some things on another level. He may or may not answer that."

Little Michael shakes his head. "No diaper changes, Mike."

I twist my lips at 'Mike.' The kid's lucky he's cute. "See? He answered just fine."

"I'd still check him. Anyway, I'll see you later."

Brad and Dean leave me holding hands. They look good together, but Dean and I look better, or we could look better.

I do find a place to change the little boy's diaper, Dean was right, he was wet—I guess you can't trust a toddler. It gives me time to think. The smarmy, cologne-doused, white-boy is right: I do hurt Dean. This relationship doesn't work for us as it once did; maybe it never really did. More likely, I've been in denial that this could work for the rest of our lives.

But I'm not willing to let Dean go. I couldn't if I wanted to and I don't want to. It's an angel thing. Dean was right, as long as I exist, he is stuck with me; I physically can't leave him alone. Even if he told me to leave him alone forever, I'd always be there in the shadows, protecting him.

I don't want to be a shadow. And I don't want him riding off into the sunset with football head.

The details become clearer as I ponder everything, the how's and the when's; I'm going to make Dean and I work; it's all or nothing now.


"Man am I full. Your Daddy sure knows how to put on a feast. That was good Sugar."

It was, as usual, but I don't feel the same level of content he does. All I can think about is Michael and the things I said to him. I don't even care about what he said to me anymore—I know he didn't mean it; he was just fucking hurt. I mean, it was fucking dumb, but I understand. What I said was way worse.

I've got my head in Brad's lap, looking up at the sky and he's running his large fingers through my hair, his back up against a tree.

"Aw, c'mon Babe. Is there gonna be anything that puts a smile on your face?"

"Sorry, babe. I just…it's not really something I can talk to you about."

"I know it's Michael. You can talk to me about it, I'll do my best to remain non-biased."

I might regret this later, but I decide to tell all, the dream, the fight everything. "It's stupid, right?"

"It's a nothing fight that got out of hand. You two will make up and he'll be having sex with you in that fancy tree house 'a yours."

"He tell you that?"

"Yeah. I know you two have sex Dean. I ain't stupid."

"I don't know why you still want to date me."

"I told you Dean, I'm crazy about you, you'd better hush about that—that's officially something I'd spank you for. I hope you're at least getting an idea by now of how much you mean to me."

I get that familiar jolt of pleasure and calm run through me just thinking about being spanked. It's probably what I need to let go of these feelings about Michael. I'm not so good at asking for spankings. I usually provoke someone into it—I'm a straight up brat and I know it.

"Yes, sir," I tease him.

"Aw baby, you can't do that here." He leans down to my ear. "Makes my dick hard as blazes."

"We could go make out in a pew…"

"Dean, there you are," Papa says casually. Wow he's got some timing. I jump up from Brad's lap even though we weren't doing anything. "It's time for you to come join your Daddy and I—we're leaving soon. Say goodbye to Bradley."

Why is he being so strict? I don't remember doing anything, unless, did he hear me talking about making out in pews? Fuck I hope not; I've kind of been walking fine lines with Papa these days. "Yes, sir."

"I expect to see you there in ten minutes," Father decrees, then leaves expecting his will to be done. It doesn't escape my notice that he didn't say a word to Brad.

"You in trouble, Sugar?"

"I don't think so; I'm pretty sure he's just worried about me, he worries like all the fucking time," I say standing up. "And everyone's fucking tired, it's been a long week leading up to this fundraiser, plus we were all up early."

"I don't blame him. I worry about you too, sweets. I've shown you I can take care of you, I hope you'll come to me more often when you need something."

I end up back at the food tent after I've said good-bye to Brad. I already ate with him, but since I have the metabolism of an elephant shrew, I help myself to more food. Michael's there with little Michael on his lap munching on a pretzel bun right in front of Daddy. I'm outraged.

"Hey. How come he gets one?"

"He did me a favor and just where were you? You said you'd be back to help me and I never saw you again."

In my defense, I had planned on asking Daddy if he still needed help when Brad and I came to get food, but it just so happened to be one of the times he was off doing something else. I know that won't fly, so I just take my plate and a seat beside the two Michaels and jealously stare at his pretzel bun. I can't even rat him out on that being his second, since it'd give me away too. He's enjoying it way more than he should be knowing he got one over on me, not to mention, he looks like the good son for helping out while I 'slacked off.' Never mind I pickled beans for days and I swear I still have fucking pie crust dough stuck under my finger nails from all those pies and bits of chicken batter in my hair…

"Sorry Daddy. I was with Brad. Where's Papa?" I say, glad it looks like I've beat him back here.

"Why? You looking for him Dean Bean?"

"Not exactly. He told me I had to come back here and to say goodbye to Brad. I figured maybe he needed me for something?"

Daddy turns around to look at me straight on. "What did you do, Sur?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that? I didn't do anything. I swear."

"There's got to be some reason he's on high alert about you."

"I know that, Daddy. I swear I don't know why." This sucks. I didn't do anything this time. Did I? My stomach starts to squirm a bit. I hate being in trouble with Papa.

"Clean up crew is all managed," Papa says coming into the food tent. "You can relax now Sam and eat some more, please."

"Yes, Cassy. Dean, don't eat too much more, we're going to have dinner at seven."

"I'll be fine Daddy. That's forever away."

I get a not so pleased look from Papa. "Mind your daddy, Mr. Winchester."

"Yes, sir," I say with heated cheeks, not looking too directly at his eyes. "Am I in trouble, Papa?"

"Not yet and I'm going to keep it that way."

Time to suck up. "Can I help you in anyway now, sir?" I say to Daddy. Sometimes it's a good idea to call Daddy sir too.

"I'm good now, Dean Bean. Why don't you help Michael with Michael? His mama's running a bit behind, but she'll be here any minute."

"I also did that too—helped with Michael. I took him to see Uncle Dally," I say.

"You're not having a pretzel bun Dean," Daddy says.

I sit and pout as Papa pulls Daddy away to get him a pre-dinner snack and I'm left with a small plate of food (I wished I grabbed more while I could) and Michael who's smirking at me. "Okay, laugh it up. You get another one and I don't because you're Daddy's favorite today."

He doesn't deny it. Little Michael's coloring a picture while sitting in his lap quietly. I've never seen the two-year-old so well behaved and know it must be Michael, I've been around little Michael often enough to know he's not quite this angelic, he is a good boy though. "I've been wanting to apologize all day, Duck. I don't even know how this time—what I said was unforgivable. I understand if you hate me."

Oh, God. I'm so relieved to hear him say that. "I forgave you hours ago, Baby. What I said was way worse…"

He's shaking his head. "I'm the one who, messed up more," he says careful not to swear in front of little Michael. "I have great responsibility to you Dean. I'm the one who provides structure between the two of us, I didn't do that today."

"No one's perfect, Michael. Even Papa screws up. It doesn't excuse what I said and I'm sorry too. In fact, I think I need…"

"Are you asking me to…?" Neither of us want to say it in front of the little guy. Not to mention, Michael's surprised; I don't ask often. I'm trying hard to be a grown-up.

I'll feel much better after Michael spanks me, but already, I feel better than I felt since our fight. The sharp tension between us dissolves into the beginnings of contentment.

"Here." He breaks a piece off his special pretzel bun and I gladly take it and shove it into my mouth.

"Mmm…so good," I say with my mouthful. "You must really love me."

To my utter fucking surprise he says, "I do love you Dean."

Chapter Text

I expected Michael to scold me for talking with my mouth full, since I could choke, not say that. He's never fucking just said that. Ever. I usually have to make him, or something. Oh my god, now I am choking. I'm fucking choking on a pretzel bun.

I'm not coughing though, the fucking delicious, salty bread is wedged into my airway, and I'm just gasping trying to get air, but I can't. Arms are suddenly around me, pulling up while a set of joined fists thrust up from my belly button and pound into my diaphragm over and over. It doesn't seem to be working and I'm slowly getting dizzy, but just before the room goes black and a particularly hard abdominal thrust, the pretzel bun pops out and breath was never so fucking sweet.

Michael. It was Michael who saved me. "Dean, are you okay?"

"Yeah," I say when I catch my breath. Daddy and Papa are here looking horrified. According to them, I've choked multiple times as a tyke and it never stops being horrifying to a parent. I wipe the tears that spring naturally to your eyes when you start fucking choking and I feel a little shaky and weak like you do after puking. "Thanks."

Little Michael's on the bench where Michael must have placed him, so he could save my ass, and Michael has fucking tears in his eyes he's wiping away, they are soon replaced by rage.

"Dean choked," little Michael says seriously.

"That's right. I did—sorry to scare you cowboy," I say rubbing my throat.

"Dean was talking with his mouth full again," Michael tattles on me.

"It's not like I meant to choke, you…" I can't say it, maybe I imagined it happening.

"C'mere Dean Bean." Daddy pulls me to him and I don't really need it, but I know he does, so I hug him good.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't mean to scare anyone."

"I know you didn't sweetheart."

I'm quickly passed off to Papa too, who's equally concerned about me, but more in the way Michael is. "You were told not to have pretzel buns," he says squeezing me tight; he's not really mad, but he's not exactly pleased.

"Sorry, Papa."

Michael's mama comes to get him after that little episode, breaking up the worried air floating around the food tent. There aren't too many people left, thankfully.

"I think it's time the Winchesters roll out," Papa says still looking shook up over the whole I almost choked on a pretzel bun thing. "I think we all need rests before dinner." That's said directly to me, so I know he doesn't just mean Daddy.

We came with a shit load of stuff, but we're leaving with nothing. Everything that's ours will be dropped off to us, but Daddy rented a lot of stuff, so that'll all get picked up tomorrow. Daddy will come back to sort that out; the clean up crew will put everything inside the church for now.

Daddy goes with Papa and Michael walks me to my car, while I'm still fucking reeling. Not over choking, they might not be over it, but I am. My brain's stuck on something else. We're stopped at my driver's side car door. "Michael, you said—"

He pushes hair out of my eyes and leans in to kiss me, cutting off my words. "You know I do. Don't make a big deal of it."

"But it is a big deal, you've never said it. Not even when I was little. No matter how many times I've asked you, you always had some witty joke response."

"Have you been watching Dr. Sexy M.D. again? This isn't a soap opera Dean. Saying…that…isn't a big deal when I've been saying it everyday for the past two and a half decades in other ways."

Okay, I get it, he doesn't want to make a thing out of it, but he said that for a reason. Michael wouldn't just say shit like that. But I'm Dean Winchester and I'm a fucking pushy brat. "If it's not a big deal, then why can't you say it now?"

"Don't be silly. Of course I could say it again if I wanted to. I've always said we share a profound bond."

"Cut it out with the profound bond bullshit. If it's no big deal, then say it again." I'm as fucking challenging as I can be.

He stares at me for what seems like forever; he's doing the classic Michael freeze up. He's definitely going back to his loft to clean 'till dinner. He opens his mouth then closes it again and licks his lips, which is a human habit. Michael has many human habits.

"Must you always scare the fucking shit out of me like that? No talking with your mouth full, ever. That's a big rule. You'll get fifty with my belt if you ever do that again." That's all he can come up with.

I nod. "Okay." I don't even argue that rule, but I can't pretend I'm not disappointed that he can't say it again. He can't. I don't know why he can't.

"Dean…I…I'll see you later and…" There's actual rage bubbling through him; I don't know why, but I know it's not my fault. He turns around and punches the tree next to Baby leaving a nice angel sized hole, not near the size of a full strength angel, but much larger than a human; scraping up his knuckles and making them bleed. If he were human they'd probably be broken, as it is I think they could be sprained. I shouldn’t have fucking pushed him; I have to calm him down.

"Michael, Baby," I say and turn him to face me. I grab his bleeding hand careful not to get blood on me—you think he's freaking now? Imagine if I got blood on me. "Looks like it's my lucky day. Your spanking hand is all fucked up."

That makes him smile. "Not to worry my little duckling, I'm ambidextrous."

"Yeah, but you can't be as good with your other hand, it's out of practice," I say confidently.

"You'll find out tonight. Go sleep, Petal."

I don't know how that became a nic, but I let it go this time. "See you later, Baby."


"We sold all of the pies," Daddy says.

"And all of the beans," I announce. As expected, Daddy whips his head around to Papa, but Papa's not having any of it. He's done with the both of us as I quickly learned when we got home. We were both sent to bed and we both knew not to utter a fucking word, or we'd both be going to bed with sore bottoms.

We're seated around the formal dining room table with Michael, who can sense the restrictive air around us, which amuses him to no end. As much as he might disagree and passive aggressively fight with my father, he loves watching Papa wrangle us back in from Colt chaos. Uncle Dal's here too, being just as amused by Winchester style antics.

Since Uncle Dal is family, he's of course welcome to Sunday dinner, but unlike me (and now Michael) he's not obligated to attend, now that's he's moved out. He still likes coming as often as he can make it.

I finally figured out that the reason for all Papa's strictness, is merely him restoring the sorely needed balance to our home. It's been way out of hand, a little too Coltish for Papa's liking and he's reminding Daddy and me who makes the rules. I was just relived to know I wasn't in trouble for anything specific. Because after thinking long and hard about it before I fell asleep, I came up with a few things I thought Papa would be less than impressed with me over and I'm glad he hasn't found out about a single one of them, or he'd be a lot more than just strict.

"I don't want to hear another word about beans. Beans are over for a year at least. You made the exact right amount and the fundraiser in general made good money. In fact, we should toast to you and your success. It's been the best fundraiser…well, since the last time you held the fundraiser." Papa lifts his wine glass. "To Sam and another great fundraiser."

We all lift our glasses and toast to Daddy.

"One fundraiser down and one to go," Daddy says and I almost choke again, Michael's doing all he can to prevent himself laughing.

Father is shaking his head. "No. No way. You hear this Sam and Dean Winchester, you may help Georgia with the church fundraiser in Texas, but you are not to involve yourselves. I allowed this one, because we hosted this year Sam. Now it's over. Am I perfectly understood?"

"Yes, sir," we both say at the same time.

"Michael, I'm trusting you to keep a close eye on them while I'm not there." Papa won't be there the first week, we'd be left to our own devices, drown in Colts. I doubt Papa would be able to sort us from the Colts when he arrived.

"Oh, believe me I will, sir." There isn't a lot Michael can do about Daddy, 'cept tell on him, but he can certainly sort me out.

All of it just reminds me that Michael's coming this year and I smile wide at him. I'm so fucking happy he's coming.

Daddy does the prayer for us and we begin eating the meal Chef Andrew prepared for us. The whole time, Papa's got the eyes that say he's on his own special Papa mission. Sunday dinner can sometimes be a little like a family board meeting, if he feels there are things to discuss, he's even handed out the occasional spanking to yours truly. So let's just say that squirmy feeling that began in my stomach earlier is beginning to spread.

I still want to ask my question about Michael and me, but I'm not quite ready yet.

"Dean?" Papa says. I almost jump.

"Yes, sir?"

"I have to leave on my business trip, earlier than planned, we have to move our meeting up to Tuesday. It should only take an hour."

That's the night I'm meeting up with Uncle Dal. I look over to Uncle Dal and he just nods understanding—he's very understanding. Uncle Dal knows he'll have to wait, since Papa's not exactly asking me. "Of course, Papa."

There's more silence and I can't stand it. We need to lighten up the mood a little bit and Papa who's clearly going to be on a rampage 'till he's gone. I decide to go with something cute. "We're a pain in the butt, but you still love us, don't you Papa?"

He knows what I'm up to, but he smiles. "You know I do, Kiddo."

"I know what would cheer you up. Michael's father gave him this great new bike. I bet he'll take you for a ride."

"No one is going on that thing, Dean Daniel, Jonathan," Daddy says.

Tread carefully, ye who is three named. "I was talking about Papa."

"So am I."

That gets Papa laughing. I know he thinks Daddy's cute when he gets protective of him. "I've always wondered what it was like to ride one of those."

"Well you can keep wondering Castiel Winchester. I don't even want Michael on it; he can still get hurt…just because his grace will heal him, but I'm not his real Daddy. He doesn't have to listen to me…"

Now I want to laugh since I've just triggered a Sam Winchester guilt trip that Michael's got to squirm his way out of.

"I always listen to you," Michael says insulted.

"So we agree, no one should ride it," Daddy says.

"But…I…" Michael sighs. "What am I supposed to do with it?" Michael doesn't bother arguing. Daddy tends to get what he wants in these types of situations.

"I don't know Michael honey, but I'm sure you'll think of something."

Uncle Dal shoves a potato in his mouth to keep from laughing. Michael kicks me under the table; he's not pleased, but I really didn't mean to get it taken away. He looks intent on getting me back. Papa is full out laughing and it was him I was trying to lighten up, so I consider my mission accomplished.

"Speaking of items of business, Dean, isn't there something you wanted to ask your parents?" Michael says, a fucking shit eating grin on his face. He must sense me putting off the question he knows I have.

Everyone's looking at me now. Suddenly I don't want to ask them anything. "I thought you wanted to ask them?" I say.

"Nope. I'm fine with the rule, you're the one who has a problem with it."

"Okay, Dean. Out with it," Papa says.

I kick Michael back under the table. He doesn't care, and leans back in his chair waiting for me to fumble through this explanation. "Michael and I made a rule. I was supposed to run my plans by him, if either he or Tom weren't around, I would stay home. I agreed. Quickly it became Michael okaying all of my plans, which I do not agree with. I said I want out of the rule, unless it's the original one we agreed upon."

"Thank you Dean. Michael? Do you have anything to add?" Papa says.

"Everything he says is true, but I feel part of my role in this relationship is to make decisions when I feel he needs it and…and I thought…"

Holy fuck. Michael's the one fumbling while I did pretty kick-ass if I do say so myself. His teeth are grit and he looks like he doesn't want to go further; he closes his eyes then opens them again.

"I thought sometimes a rule could be for me."

What the?

Daddy's looking fondly at Michael like he's proud. He really is Daddy's favorite today.

"It can Michael," Papa says softly. Softly? When does Papa talk to Michael like that? Am I in another dream sequence?

I fucking pinch myself under the table, nope, awake. Shit just got weird.

"But by the look on Dean's face, I'm going to say you did not communicate this to him?"

"No, sir." Michael looks down at his plate, embarrassed, hot under the gaze of my father.

Papa shakes his head. "You two are terrible at communication and that's where most of your arguments originate. I want you both to work on that—that's a rule. Understood?"

Fuck. And if you'll remember, no, Papa doesn't have to ask me if I agree to that rule; he says it, it's a rule.

"Yes, sir," we both say.

"Michael, I can't ask you to subject to a punishment for this rule at this time, if you should disrespect my request, but I can lecture your ears off and I promise you won't like it."

"Yes, sir," he says. "But sir, I will offer myself for punishment, same as Dean would receive, if I disobey."

Not even Dally's laughing at that; my heart is beating fast. I feel a bit dizzy actually—this is a lot of Michael chivalry for one day. I guess he feels like he's fucked up and needs to make it up to Father.

"Thank you Michael. Now that Dean knows that piece, I think you do need to renegotiate the rule, but before you do, Dean, I think this is something you should talk to your daddy about. I hope you'll consider Michael's feelings and not just your own and remember what we talked about regarding mature relationships."

I did not expect any of this to happen; I'm still confused to be honest, it seemed like an open and shut case, but apparently it's not. And Michael's feelings? Since when has Papa cared about those?

When dinner nears its end, Papa still has one more royal decree to make. "Dean, you have school in the morning. I expect you in bed at an hour which reflects that, if I find you're not able to do that, I'm happy to do it for you."

"Yes, sir." Guess he's still a bit pissed about me staying up all night last night and I'd really rather not be assigned a bedtime. Been there, done that.

"And from what I can tell, there's something you and Michael need to take care of. You have my permission to use your bedroom."

Okay. Two questions. Did my father just give me permission to allow Michael to spank me in my bedroom? And how fucking much did Papa see today? I should probably be grateful I'm not in a lot more trouble. That means he couldn't have overheard my and Hannah's conversation, or I would be.

"One more thing, if you two don't take care of it, I will, so see that you do please."

I do not envy Daddy tonight. "Yes, sir."

Michael and I get the fuck out of there, not even bothering to stay for dessert. I ate a ton of pie today anyway. I say bye to Uncle Dal, who says, "see you Tuesday half-pint. Try to keep yourself out of trouble 'till then, huh?" We high tail it to my room and when we get there, we shut the door and burst out laughing.

"Holy fuck Daddy's in trouble later. If I thought there was anyway we could save him…"

"Don't worry about him, Duck. Papa Winchester only does what he knows your daddy needs. C'mere." He pulls me down on the bed, with my back to him. He props himself up on pillows, and snuggles me to him tight. "I need to be near you, baby."

"What? Who are you? Michael never says shit like that, just like he never says—"

"Hush. I'm working on communication like Papa Winchester said to."

"So now you're sucking up to Papa?"

"I've been trying to suck up to that anal bastard since the day I met him, but that's besides the point—he's right. I'm going to do better Dean."

He's holding me with one arm, while his other hand plays at the nape of my neck, then down the front of my shirt. "Just like that?" I say after awhile.

"Just like that."


"I told you, today."

Right. That. There's no way I'm pushing him about that again, which reminds me. "How's your hand?"

"All better."

There's another eternity of silence. "I'm sorry I got your bike taken away."

"I don't care about the bike."

"You said it reminded you of flying."

"There are better things than flying."

There's more silence and I've run out of things to say. Michael's in this weird fucking mood. He's supposed to be leading, so I let him. Eventually, his hand makes its way down to the waistband of my shorts and unbuttons them, his hand slides to grab my cock. "Mmmnhm, yeah…"

He slips my shorts down my ass with his other hand, still stroking my cock, and swirling the pre cum, that's already leaking, around the head. He leans back to reach into my bed side table to grab lube, "I need you to keep quiet. Can you do that?" he says as he's lubing my hole.

"Uh-huh, just please, stick your cock in me," I say as quiet as fucking possible. I'm pretty sure this is not what Papa meant by taking care of me.

I open fairly easily for him. Practice. And it feels so good when he slides his dick home as he continues to stroke my cock with the hand he's added lube to. His free hand grabs my hip and his fingers dig in hard and painful. "Michael…" I breath out, quietly even though I'm pretty sure no one's going to hear us anyway.

"I'm right here, baby. You going to cum for me?"

His cock slides over my prostate, hard and steady, his hand twists down my shaft and over the head. Oh God…Oh God…I have to stuff my head in a pillow to keep from crying out as my cum spews all over his hand. Michael slows his strokes around my cock, milking the last dredges from the bottom of my nuts, but rams into my ass hard as he releases inside me and groans quietly into my ear. "Oh god, Dean. That was…intense."

"Yeah," I say panting. I turn my head so we can kiss. "That was totally quiet-teenager-don't-let-the-parents-hear sex, I fucking loved it. Hot."

I grab some tissue from the box on my bedside table, and do a mini clean up, so I can pull up my pants and head over to my in suite washroom, but I get an idea, I stop at my dresser drawer. "Here, have a sock."

"A sock?"

"Yeah. I think that's what you're supposed to use after that kind of sex."

He scowls at me and grabs a tissue. "I'm good with tissue."

I toss the sock in the hamper and head back to Michael, who just doesn't seem like Michael. "You sure you're not the shapeshifter version of Michael?"

"You want to cut me with silver, duck?"

"No." Michael looks sad. I know what always cheers him up. "So, time to spank, Dean?"

"I believe I decide when you get your spanking."

"And what we going to do 'till then, recite poetry? Grow fucking vaginas?" There, that should do it.

"Sit in that chair," he orders.

Thank the fucking lord. "Yes, sir!"

I sit and he lays back, pillowing his hands behind his head. "What are your plans for this week?"

"Double date tomorrow night with Brad, my new friend Kelsey and Brad's bestie, Ryan. The Dal thing you know about, that's it so far. I was pretty much going to just hang with Daddy the 'till we leave."

"Does that mean you forfeit our bet?"

Oh shit…that.

"If you forfeit, I'm willing shorten the length of time you spend over my lap and I will include tonight. If you don't, the entire week stands and I will make you miserable. Chose."

Evil fucking angel. Fuck. I am going to lose that bet because Brad's the great wall of fucking China.

"You're not going to get a better deal than that."

I sigh. "Yeah I know. Fine. I forfeit."

Michael smiles. "Good. Go downstairs and get my jacket, bring it to me."

It's good to know what he spent his fucking time doing while I slept; dreaming up ways to spank Dean.

I'm too afraid to look into this jacket, not to mention he didn't say I could. If there's any advice I can give to a spankee, it's do not further agitate the spanker. I hand Michael the jacket soon as I get back.

"You know, I've changed my mind. I'm good. I don't need a spanking anymore. I'm 'ducky.'"

"You need this spanking Dean and I intend to give it to you. It's my job to take care of you."

He pulls a short thin rod out of his jacket. "What the fuck is that?" I ask.

"This, is a lap cane. Come here." He's already sitting with his legs off the bed in preparation. I take tentative steps toward him 'till I'm close enough for him to grab and pull me between his legs.

"Do you trust me?"

"I do."

"Then calm down. This is what we're going to do. First I'm going to spank you for today, for you, because you asked me to and because you need me to. When that's all done, I'm going to begin my Michael fun spankings—the winnings of my bet."

"Michael fun spankings?"

"Yes. I want you to understand that they aren't for anything—you did nothing to earn them, I don't want them to mess with your psyche in that way, they are for my pleasure. You and I have never used spanking in quite this way, I want to be clear."

He's definitely whacked on my ass a few times during sex, for fun, and not as punishment, but he's right, not quite like this. "Believe me, I don't think I'll be making any mistakes there."

"Good. Tonight you will only get a taste. Ten solid whacks, which you will ask me for. Then tomorrow, you're to come to my loft after school—before your double date and ask me for a real spanking with it. And finally Wednesday for another."

"You're enjoying this way too much."

"That's why they're called Michael fun spankings," he says too gleefully. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."


"Yes, sir."

My shorts come down again and soon I'm upturned and bare assed over Michael. He sets the lap cane aside, thankfully not in my view. It looks like it's going to fucking hurt.

He rubs my bare ass, which is probably still sporting some pink—was it only Friday I was last spanked? But by the way this week's gone, the question might be better asked, did I actually manage to go one day without being spanked this week? I'm not sore though, so I may as well be considered fresh.

He doesn't lecture, or say anything, to start. He simply starts in with several hard swats. It doesn't seem to matter how many times I've been spanked (and I know you'll believe me when I say I'm a pro) those first spanks are the ones that get me breathless the fastest. They hurt physically, but mentally it's soothing.

"Is this what you needed, Duck?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tell me why."

"Because I said terrible things. I hurt you. I…I'm so sorry, Michael. I didn't fucking mean it." That's what gets me breaking up, tears welling, remembering our fight and the shitty things I said. I hate what I said to him.

"I do thank you for your apology, but I've already forgiven you. Can you forgive yourself?"

He leaves that question hanging in the air as he gets to work doing a very thorough job making every inch of my ass, and the tops of my thighs sting. I always think I'm going to be like those dudes in the pornos who just lay still and accept their spankings, but fuck, I'd like to see those dudes get a spanking from Michael and not squirm. Because I do and I cry and it feels good. I never know quite how spanking does it, but by the end when I'm a sobbing mess of tears, I feel absolved. I guess I feel like I've given something and I can move forward from today.

The pit in my stomach that I sometimes don't always know is there 'till I'm being spanked, or even after, goes away and I don't feel bad anymore and like Papa, he seems to have an intuition over when this happens and knows the spanking is over. He lifts me up and pulls me to him kissing me. "Thank you, Michael," I say wiping at tears. "That was…good."

He rubs his soft hand over my backside, rubbing out some of the sting for me. "I know. It looks good, I want to bite it."

I laugh. "You want to bite my ass?"

"You have no idea how delicious you look."

I shake my head.

"You're better now?"

"Much. I mean it, thanks."

I lean in to kiss him again and when I pull away this time, he's looking at me expectantly. Right. The Michael fun spanking. I indulge him. "Oh please, m'lord, spank me with thou'st evil fucking stick of torture."

That earns me a different kind of spank from his hand that had been, so nicely rubbing. "Back over you go."

I do as bid.

"Good boy. Spread your legs nice and wide for me."

I do the best I can considering my shorts are still around my ankles. Michael takes his stick and rubs it across my hot backside. "Ten tonight. Count them please and thank me."

"You're enjoying this way too fucking much."

That gets me my first whack with his whippy little stick…lap cane…whatever the fuck it is. "Ow!"

"Behave yourself."

"Does that one count?"

"What do you think?" He waits 'till I'm quiet. "Good, now we will begin."

He's way too good at using the thing and while it does fucking hurt and is not something I'm looking forward to being used on me multiple times this week, it's not nearly as bad as I imagined. "Ow, fuck. One. Thank you, sir."

He rubs it across my ass, drawing out the spanking, making my ass tingle. Whack. "Ah. Two. Thank-you, sir."

By ten, I've well and truly had a 'taste,' and I can feel every place he landed that thing with a special two; one for each of my upper thighs. He pulls me up; his eyes are filled with lust—wow did he fucking like that. "Oh god, baby. Will you…will you suck my cock?"

"My pleasure." I rip open his straining erection and get down on my knees between his legs, sucking down his cock. He thinks I'm delicious? His cock is ten times more delicious, I'm sure of it.

Apparently, him spanking me like that, made him so fucking horny, it doesn't take him long, I mean I'm good, but not that good. "Dean, oh baby, I'm going to cum."

And he does, straight down my throat; I swallow and lick him clean then clamber up to kiss him so he can taste himself. "Fuck," he says falling back on the bed. "I think I just found my new favorite thing."

That doesn't sound very good for my ass. "New? What's so new about spanking my ass? It's not like you haven't used implements before," I say, doing up my shorts.

"But this one…this one leaves such a lovely color. It's perfect." I think he's in love.

He's got the biggest smile on his face and I somehow feel responsible for it. Seeing the melancholy angel happy is the best thing in the world and something hits me. An understanding.

"I don't think I need to talk to Daddy, I mean, I will anyway, but I think I get it."

"Get what?"

He sits up as I get down between his knees again and look up at him. "Not all of the rules in our relationship will be for me. Some will be for you, like this one. You need it and you didn't know how to ask for it. This is something I need to give to you. It'll be easier for me to give knowing how much you need it—though I have no illusions over it being easy. It's going to be challenging as fuck, but I want to do it for you Michael. Just like Daddy does stuff like this for Papa."

When I see an angel tear, I know I've done the right thing. "You really ought to catch these you know," he says wiping it away.

"Why, when you cry like all the time? I'm sure there will be some on hand when I need them."

"I do not," he says pulling me to him down on the bed.

"Do too, you cried after I almost fucking choked to death."

"Do not and I should spank you again for that."

"Do too, and my ass is sore enough thanks."

"Do no—oh forget it. Thank you, my duckling. This means a lot to me."

Chapter Text

Monday Morning

When I come down in the morning, I only see Papa. I'm not surprised. "Daddy okay?"

"Of course he is, Kiddo. I sorted him all out, but I want him to rest a little longer. You look sorted out."

"Michael sorted me out good, Papa. You wanna see?"

He gives me a scolding look. "I'm good. Behave yourself young man."

I guess no one's in the mood for jokes yet. "So, should I make my own breakfast, or…"

"No need. I made you my special oatmeal."

I wince. His special oatmeal is special, because it's pretty much the only thing Papa can cook. It's okay, but it's kinda bland unless I douse it in maple syrup—but don't you dare tell him that. I wouldn't complain about it on a good day; I've already gathered I'm on thin ice with Papa as Daddy would say, so I shut my pie hole. "Is there coffee?"

"In the pot over there."

Thank god. I help myself and pour lots of cream in—I like my coffee strong, but Papa's is like mud. I don't care, I'm going to need something to wash the bland oatmeal down with.

Daddy comes down once I'm half-way through; he looks stiff, but he's smiling wide. The two look at each other and share that special smile of theirs—like there's no one else in the whole world—and kiss. "Morning, Cassy."

"I'm here too, Daddy." Yes I'm complaining. What the hell did those two do last night? Wait. Scratch that. Don’t want to know.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Morning Dean Bean."

"Morning to you too," I grumble around oatmeal. He's not looking at me anyway, just at Papa. I'm pretty sure they're going to have sex when I leave. In fact…I spoon the last bit of my oatmeal into my mouth and sip my last bit of coffee.

"So, um, sir, may I have my phone back, please?" I ask a little nervous he won't give it back. He fucking confiscated it last night, since I stayed up on it all night, the night before.

"Oh, right." Yeah, he's still mesmerized by Daddy, but he reaches into his pocket and hands it to me. "Don't let me catch you up all night on that thing again, or you won't see it for a week," he tears his eyes away from Daddy to say to me.

"Yes, sir." That's a fucking scary ass punishment. Me, Mr. socialite (least I am now) without his cell phone? That's just cruel Papa. I'm not stupid enough to say it.

"And, uh, you're going to have to buy lunch today," he says sheepishly. I expected as much, Papa doesn't do lunches. I know Daddy's still in some kinda parallel universe when he doesn't say a word about it and instead just tells me to, "have a good day at school Dean Bean."

I get outta dodge. What they don't know is most of my exams were written last week, meaning this is dick around week at school for Dean. I check my phone; there are like a bajillion messages. The first one I notice is from Mark, because he doesn't usually text me, making sure we're still on for working out.

Michael, who was there when Papa took my phone and thought it was hilarious left me a special note of sarcasm: You can breath now, Duck.

Brad left me a goodnight message, which I respond to now, even though I'll see him shortly.

I have so many other messages, I don't get to them all. Wow. I've become Mr. Popular.

Brad's there shaking his head at me. "You manage to get yourself into some trouble, Sugar."

"Make-out with me? I don't have any classes this morning."

"You don't? What you doing here then, sweets?"

"What teen would pass up some unaccounted for time? Thought I could use it to make up to you for yesterday, my papa was on a rampage."

He laughs. "You don't have to make up to me anything, but I'm down. I've got nothing first block either."

We head back out to the student parking lot, but go for his truck since it's bigger and hop in the back seat. He's randy this morning. Usually Brad is very slow to get into anything, but today, he's quick to get my school jacket off and is unzipping his pants releasing his cock. "I gotta have your mouth on my cock, Dean. I've been thinking about it all night."

"Yeah?" I say giving the head a teasing lick. "What did you think about?" I let his huge cock enter my hot mouth slowly trying to drive him insane.

"I whacked off to you sitting on my cock, Sugar…God that feels good Dean, you're so good at that."

I almost choke on the cock in my mouth, (thank god cocks can't get trapped in your esophagus like pretzel buns) he's never said anything like that. I pop my mouth off his cock. "Yeah, babe. You want me to sit on your cock?"

"Someday," he says and he's already so lost in lust he's shoving my face back down to his cock, which I smile around as I get back to work. "Oh yeah, that's it…"

Huh. I mentally shrug. People say a lot of shit in the heat of the moment; just like that Meatloaf song. I finish sucking Brad off, then he does me.

All chastity vow approved sexed up, he helps me down from his massive truck, and we head out to the football stands where the football family seems to migrate when they have spares, or when they're just skipping.

There are a few guys with their girlfriends and boyfriends. Mark is there. "Oh hey Dean! Got your text this morning, looking forward to kicking your ass in the gym today."

"I might surprise you." I'm fucking sick of him telling me I'm puny. Just because I don't take fucking roids like the rest of them.

"Can we get started a bit early? Since English is over and I know we both have a spare next block? I want to score a bit of time with that hottie friend of yours and she's not free 'till lunch."

I know Hannah's crushing on him pretty hard, which is unusual for her, especially if they're having repeat make-out sessions. I'll do it for her, but definitely not for this meathead. I look at Brad. "Sorry, Sugar. I've got class, but you go ahead. I'll have to catch up with you two after. We can finish off your workout together and maybe steam up the steam room."

Since when did Brad become the sexual deviant in our relationship?

"Okay. Sounds good." This works out good, maybe I'll actually get to eat lunch.

Brad and I proceed to make-out, while the other guys talk about football. Jesus Christ, they can talk about football.

When the bell rings, Mark nocks his head. "C'mon Winchester. Detach your lips from our dear Captain, you're coming with me."

Both Brad and I groan since we were both enjoying the other and I was thinking we should either head back to his truck or head under the bleachers.

"You two can tangle tongues again later." He's teasing, but still respectful. I've noticed all the football boys defer to Brad. He's not just Captain on the field, but head of their football family. I wonder what that makes me? Football Mama? I sure as hell hope not.

"Okay, okay. You can take him," Brad says. "C'mere Sugar."

He pulls me close again and whispers in my ear just for me. "You be good now."

Fucking, cocktease. Two can play.

"Yes, sir," I say back, into his ear.

"Are you looking for a spanking, Dean Winchester?"

"I dare you."

Mark pulls me away. "Break it up you two. Winchester, you're with me. Davis, we'll see you in an hour."


"C'mon Winchester, that all you got? Push!"

Just like every other gym bro I know, Mark only thinks about working his chest. I mean, I've never worked out with him before and he's a football player, so he's got decent sized legs, but it's all he's talked about. Chest today, Chest on Wednesday and Chest on Friday. He hasn't mentioned any other body parts and who the fuck says I'm working out with him after today? Fuck that. I'm busy.

We're the only ones in the gym; the other kids with no class did the smart thing and fucked off to the beach, doing chest exercises 'till kingdom come. We're doing our fourth set of bench. We've been at it almost an hour and I fucking hope Brad shows up soon. I haven't heard the bell yet, but I hope he just leaves and comes to fucking save me. If I actually had time between sets, I'd have fucking text him by now, but he talks and talks and fucking talks.

He's really pissing me the fuck off.

"C'mon, get it right down, right to your chest, touch and push up. Okay, rack."

He doesn't really give me the choice and pulls it back toward the rack on extension. "Rack? I had at least two more."

"Your form was shit Winchester. But don't worry, I'm going to build you up. So you and Brad are pretty steady now, hey?"

"We're not steady. Just dating," I clarify switching him places, so he can do his set.

"Don't worry, it won't be long, you should hear the way he talks about you, bro."

I don't know if I want to find out…well maybe a little. "Yeah? Like what?" I feel a little bit like I'm in a chick flick right now, talking about my Captain of the football team crush.

He smiles, but it's a make fun type a smile, a he's going to start singing the kissing in the tree song kind of smile. "It's not really the 'what,' it's that he can't stop talking about you and the tone…he's fucking happy, man."

When he's done his set I switch off with him again and start my next one—he makes sure to take a bit of weight off. Asshole. "Speaking of happy, I am too," he says.

"Oh yeah?" I say grunting out a rep. Maybe I'll have something good to tell Hannah later.

"Yeah, your friend Hannah is a sweet piece of ass."

Okay, that's fucking it. I rack the bar myself this time and sit up. "That all she is? Just a piece of ass to you?" Normally I wouldn't care; I know he's just being a dude even if he is an asshole, and let's face it, I can be the same kind of asshole, but Hannah's my best friend. Isn't there some kind of code against that? Talking about another 'bro's' friend that way? Thought there was…And Hannah actually likes the prick. Of course she does. Chicks never like the nice guys, and well, neither do dudes for that matter.

"Look Dean, it's nothing personal. I meant it as a compliment, she's hot, but you know not the 'take home to Mom' kind of girl."

He's just digging himself a bigger fucking hole, I smile, but it's not a nice smile. "You think you're a real tough guy, working out, playing football, fucking my friend and dumping her when you're bored of her?" I say standing up.

He stands up a little straighter too in response to my aggressive stance without even meaning to and holy fuck, he is big. Nowhere near the size of Brad, but bigger than me. "What? You think you can take me Winchester? Go ahead." The ways he says that, it's hard to tell if he is being a condescending prick. It's almost, nice, if that makes any sense. Like he really wants me to try, so he can 'teach' me. Like I'm the Luke Skywalker to his Obi Wan.

"That's it, use what I'm saying. Let it fuel you. Hit me. Hit me."

I don't make any moves.

"Maybe fighting's more your style. I can teach you that."

Why does he have to teach me anything? Hell why's he trying to be my friend so fucking hard?

"Do you need more? Something to give you the eye of the Tiger? C'mon Winchester, I'm saying you can take your best shot—a free be."

He's standing on the other side of the bench press from me, it's not exactly a great place of leverage, since that's what I'd have to use in such a situation being the smaller dude. Daddy always comments that it looks like I'll get my height back, since apparently I was pretty tall in my last life, but we're still not sure about size. Mark is right in that I'm a hard gainer.

And here's the other thing…I'm not really a great fighter. While it might be true that I've earned the most penalty minutes in hockey and get into shit all the time from Coach with how much I fight during games, it's a different kind of fighting. That I can do. In hockey, I'm a goon—a skilled goon, since I also have the highest scoring average in my division—but there's just not that much skill required in goon fighting. This, this is different, combined with, I know Mark is an experienced fighter. I remember hearing somewhere that he goes to one of those MMA fighting gyms. I know it would require a lot more to take him down than what I've got—I just don't feel like getting my ass kicked, 'cause let's be honest, that's what would happen.

But old Dean, he could fight. I don't know how I know that, I mean other than it makes perfectly good sense, but I also know that. I'd really like to shut this guy up.

"It's not worth it, Mark. I don't want to fight you."

"C'mon Dean. See? This is what I mean. You back down, you live such a sheltered life. What if shit hit the fan? You need to be able to fight and I can teach you."

He's not wrong, but still no. "Well I'm not fighting you and this workout is over, permanently."

"I'm not saying the right things…what if I told you your girl Hannah has a slick pussy?"

"I'd tell you I already fucking know—I hit that forever ago." He's just trying to egg me the fuck on, I won't fall for it.

"Right after I fucked her, I fucked Amanda, then Cheryl. Hannah doesn't mean shit to me. How do you think she'd feel about that?"

My hands clench into fists. Not balled in frustration like when Papa or Michael tell me they don't want me doing something I don't want to; fucking clenched, ready to punch him. I forcefully turn myself away. "Eat me," I say, 'cept I never say things like 'eat me.' I start walking away.

"Next time, I'm going to make sure she knows how worthless she is to me, I'll make sure she sees me fucking someone else, anyone else."

"You sick son of a bitch. I swear to god, for your sake…"

He laughs like a fucking hyena. "For my sake? What are you going to do about it Winchester? Huh? What you going to do, Dean?"

Something goes off inside me, I turn back around and head butt Mark; there's a crunch, I may have broke his nose. He's stunned, but I'm just as stunned. I can't believe I just did that.

"Hey, watch the face. I said free be not fucking almost break my nose."

I swing to punch him in the side of the head, but he's ready this time and stops me. Without missing a beat I swing the other way and fast, this time too fast for him and I get a good head shot in. He's impressed.

"There we go Winchester, that's what I'm looking for. That's the spunk you need."

He's talking tough, but he's backing up like he's scared. I can't see the look in my eyes, but I know it's hard and fucking determined while being expressionless at the same time. I'm up on the bench and over the bar. Sizing me up, like he needs to again—because I'm suddenly different, he takes up some fancy pants fighting stance, probably one he learned at fucking 'Fight Club.' I don't need that shit, I smirk at him. When your life is at stake, rules and fighting etiquette don't matter; living matters. You do whatever the fuck you need to.

"Leave Hannah alone, also permanently." I turn to start walking away again. Whatever's came over me's left me.

"I don't think so, not after that. You owe me a fight."

"I don't owe you shit." I keep walking (you'll remember I did the right thing later if Papa asks, won't you?) but he's not letting me go; he jumps me from behind and fucking football tackles me to the ground. He lays in a good fucking couple of punches to my gut that wind me, some to my torso and one to my fucking face that's going to bruise for sure.

"C'mon, what would you do now, Winchester? Someone tackles you from behind, you got lucky before because you got me by surprise, now try to get out of this."

I struggle beneath his weight, but it's useless. He's a lot heavier than me.

"Where's that bad-ass look now? That fight to the death burn you had blazing a moment ago?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Get off me."

"Make me, Winchester."

I try, but I'm on my stomach and he's literally crushing the air out of me. "Fuck…I…I can't. Please, get the fuck off me." I can't breathe, well.

"Nope. Is that what you'd tell your attacker? You get me off."

Fuck. What the fuck is wrong with this guy? I try pushing away from the ground, struggling like fuck. I have no idea how to get away. Then he's got his arm around my neck, choking me. I hate this. I hate that I don't know how to deal with this shit, maybe he's right…doing me a favor, maybe I do need to learn this shit…

But when his arm squeezes harder around my throat, I start to panic and I'm struggling, which is only making me lose air faster. It's game over. I'm going to pass out. I can't seem to summon whatever was in me a moment ago—it doesn't seem to care that I'm being fucking choked out.

Least I think so, 'till I hear his voice in my ear. "I'm not going to leave Hannah alone, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

The fuck there's not.

I don't know where it comes from, but I suddenly know what to do—and it's awesome. I lead with another head butt that I don't land, but it allows me to roll him back and I can grab his foot, pull it into me and simultaneously press down on his knee. That makes him let go immediately, since it hurts like hell and I fucking gasp for air. But I've only got little time before he's on me again, so I spring up; he does too, and he's got me in another rear naked choke hold.

Now it's time for me to teach this son of a bitch a lesson.

In the ring there are rules. For instance, no butting with the head, no eye gouging, no biting, no punching another dude in the junk…and on and on and on…but when it's life and death, none of that exists. You know? Kill, or be killed. That's it. What a man can do and what a man can't do. This kid may know the rules of the ring, but I'm about to teach him the rules of life.

I'm on my feet, so I can pull him down enough to get a good whack in on his junk then I'm right back up with the fingers of my hand, going for his eyes. Just going for the eyes is enough for most people to throw their head out of the way, it's instinct actually and he does that now. I'm glad. I don't really want to gouge out his eyes, he may be a jack ass, but he doesn't deserve to lose his eyes. With his head back, it loosens the hold he had around my neck and I spin away, extra rotating his shoulder in the process and now I can use his larger size against him, the move throws him off balance. All it takes from me is a sharp tug at his elbow, almost no strength required, since I'm taking advantage of the inertia of my movement and he's on the ground on his knees. I spin his arm in a way that's not pretty; he's also immobile; one quarter turn and his arm will snap, but I don't do that even if he fucking deserves it. "Next time, I will fucking break your arm." And end any career he has in football.

I knee him in the stomach 'till I hear a familiar voice behind me. "Whoa, Dean. Dean!"

Brad pulls me off of his friend and I'm shaking. I don't know quite how I was able do all of that, but I know it wasn't me—least not now me. I mean, it doesn't take an astrophysicist to figure out that what I just did was remnants of old Dean. It's not the first time I've had old Dean around, but it is the first time this happened. Problem is, there's so little of old Dean left, I'm just not him anymore, so it's fucking weird. It feels more like an old friend stepped in to help rather than it really being me. But if I can call upon old Dean to help protect me when needed, maybe I can get everyone to worry about me less.

Wait 'till I show Daddy. He's supposed to 'teach' me stuff, it will be fun to knock him on his ass this time.

"What in tarnation?"

Mark, the crazy asshole is laughing, good naturedly. "That, was awesome! Winchester, you have to teach me that shit." He's holding his stomach that I hope has bruises, his nose is already starting to bruise a bit. I wonder what I'm going to look like?

I just glare at him. I don't really know what the fuck to say to him, or well, I do but all of it might start a war and I just want him out of my face. He pats me on the back. "See ya tomorrow Dean. I'm going to hit the showers, he's all yours Davis."

I'm left with Brad who's looking at me like it was my fault. "Don't look at me. Your friend is the crazy asshole who almost choked me out." I push his hand away.

"Okay, it just didn't look that way. I'm sorry."

"And I hope you talk to him. We were having a great workout," I exaggerate. "Then he starts talking smack about Hannah and beating the crap out of me."

"That's just Mark, Sugar. He's trying to make friends."

"By beating the crap outta me? Hope I at least showed him I don't need his martial arts lessons."

Brad pulls me to him. "Be nice. It's just his way of looking out for you—that's what we do, we're a family. You can understand that, can't you babe?" He gives me his sexy-pouty eyes.

"Yeah," I sigh. "But could you tell him to lay off of me?"

"I can, but…you're going to have to do something in return, or it's going to make my life…difficult."


"Make more of an effort to be one of, the family? They've kind of noticed, so I've been really trying to talk you up. And haven't they proven they're good guys? I mean they did come out and help. Not saying they're owed anything, it was their pleasure, they're just feeling like you don't really like them."

Brad runs his thumb over my fingers and looks at me pleadingly. I do feel kinda bad. Not for what I did to Mark, he deserved everything he got, but yeah, guess I haven't been making an effort to get to know his friends and he's been real kind to Hannah. "We got that double date tonight, don't we? I'll be my charming self," I promise.

"Thanks. Means a lot and I'll talk to Mark. He comes on kinda strong."

"Kinda strong?"

"How 'bout I make it up to you. It's lunch I'll take you for burgers. Do you even have any classes today?"


He shakes his head at me. "Okay then. Let's blow off 'till my last class and I'll blow you off again."


"But before we do any of that, let's get you some ice—I think that's going to bruise."

"Yeah, okay." Fuck. Fuck my life. Michael is not going to be happy when he sees my face, or the bruises that are likely along my torso. Now I've got to come up with a way to talk Michael out of beating the crap out of Mark, even if I might like to see that myself.

~Sunday Night~

"So how much trouble am I in?"

"How much trouble do you feel like you're in?" I tease him a bit, since I've already figured some of this puzzle out and I know Sam will end up telling me the rest.


"He's still got a year of high school left and college Sam," I go straight into. "And even after that, we'll make him come home for fundraisers."

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew. You only ever challenge me on things to do with Dean…remember the time you broke your ribs?" I smile. "I figured it out this time after the third spanking I gave you."

"He's growing up so fast, he grew up so fast and, well, what if…well I couldn't help thinking, what if this is the last fundraiser?"

"It's not even close to, Baby."

"If Dean runs off to be a hunter it will be Cas and I have a bad feeling I…"

Ah. There it is. "C'mere, Baby." I pull him onto the bed with me and I console him as he cries. My silly, silly, Sam. I knew he was upset over Dean even if I didn't know the specifics. Anytime Dean hits a milestone in his life, holidays, or big happenings. For instance, he's cried at every single one of Dean's birthdays and Christmases. When Dean started losing his teeth I had to spank Sam every tooth and then go leave our six-year-old an exorbitant amount of money for a tooth that was never there, because Sam couldn't.

When Dean graduated from kindergarten, Sam was inconsolable behind closed doors while he put on a huge smile for Dean who was super proud of himself. "Lookit Daddy! This says I'm smart!"

"Of course you are sweetheart."

Sam was stiff for days after the 'treatment' I had to give him to calm him down after that one imagining Dean moving away and going off to college. I had to promise him I wouldn't allow Dean to live in residence, so he'd have to live with us while he goes to school. I've often failed him when it comes to Dean because it's such a grey area. Sam has every right to feel the way he does about our son, but in this case, it took the form of a fundraiser insanity, and believe me, Colts don't need an excuse to get crazy over a fundraiser. They can do that without any reason at all.

"Dean thinks I'm going to kill you."

"As Dally would say, he's such a drama queen, but I almost don't blame him this time, you have been pretty strict with him," he sniffles. Sam is forever coddling our boy with no shame about it.

"That boy needs a good spanking and I hope Michael's giving it to him. I may just yet before I go away."

Sam laughs and wipes tears. "I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"I don't like it, but it's true."

"That why you gave your permission, Papa?"

I sigh heavy. That was a hard thing to do. "Yeah. Much as I'm able to guide Dean in a particular way, for this he needed Michael. I would have done a fine job, but Michael was the best for the task, so I put my jealous feelings aside."

"You're a good Papa."

I kiss him for that. "Thank-you Baby." If when I die all I've got is that I was a good husband and a good Papa, I'll take it.

"Cas I…I know I'm always coming up with these crazy scenarios every time Dean gets older, but this time it's this really bad feeling, in my gut. I didn't even want to think about it, let alone talk about it, but it's been sitting there anyway, no matter how much I try to ignore it and stuff it away in the corners of my mind. I'm actually glad you've been strict with Dean this time, I'm worried about him."

That in turn worries me. It makes me wonder if I should hire our men back to watch Dean, the ones we had when he was much littler. We were paranoid, still are, but we wanted Dean to have a 'normal' life and being followed around by someone isn't quite normal—it doesn't offer any privacy. In the end it wasn't fair to put our paranoia onto Dean because in reality there is never any guarantee on safety. There have been other times in his life we've felt need to hire them for a short time, but when we decided the coast was as clear as it was going to be, we cancelled their services.

"I know what you're thinking Cassy and while part of me wants to tell you to do it, please don't. Dean'll flip and besides I'm just being…me."

"Dean will do what he's told without argument, or he can be grounded. We decide what's best for him, we're his parents. And I will take this seriously—your gut feelings aren't usually wrong."

"They are sometimes and you know it."

"I'm more concerned with the times they're right," I say levelly and he knows not to argue. "I won't for now, but I will keep an extra close eye. Maybe Michael can get that Tom guy to help."

I push the hair away from his forehead. "But that's a concern for tomorrow, right now we need to worry about you." If Sam's been having those kinds of feelings, he's falling apart inside.

I sit him up and pull him up with me. "Remove your shirt."

He nods.

"Excuse me?" I haven't collared him, I'm not going to collar him, but I still expect a particular protocol. I don't consider us 'dom' and 'sub,' haven't in a long time, but this still falls under the category of 'play;' it's good to have some kind of difference to our everyday.

"Yes, sir."

All I need is a bit of simple rope, a wooden stool and a few implements for tonight. As soon as Sam's shirt is off, I get to work tying his hands behind his back. They're crossed, one wrist over the other and I make the rope thick by winding it multiple times and the knots secure. We always have a knife and a sturdy set of scissors on hand in case I ever have to cut him out, in the event of an emergency.

His breathing is rapid and a bit out of control, I haven't done anything yet; it's not a good sign. "Do you need to safe word? I'll still spank you for punishment, but without all this, either way you'll get what you need."

"No sir, it's just…you're disappointed in me. I've been horrible to you all week. I-I've been dishonest, disobedient—I haven't set a good example for Dean."

Of course I'm not worried about the example he sets for our son; he sets a fine example; best Daddy in the world—but that's not what he needs to hear right now. "We're going to take care of all that, aren't we? You'll be good from now on."

"Please, sir."

I check in with him by feeling his body for changes in temperature and I rub his arms, then his torso, smoothe my thumb over his cheek. His skin feels okay (no signs of clamminess) and eventually his breathing slows too. I don't know how Sam does it, but he's already floated away to that meditation, otherwise nicknamed 'subspace.' He's very good at it. Not that I have anyone to compare it to directly, but I have talked to both submissive types and dominant types; it's rare for anyone to slip into that space so quickly.

"You're going to be so good for me, aren't you? You'll do what I say from now on, won't you?" Until the next time something happens with Dean, but I leave that out. Tonight is about security—he needs to know that I'm here to take care of him and not let him do whatever he wants, which has not been displayed by my behavior of late. But I will continue to reassure him over the next few days and Sam will be unburdened.

"Yes, sir." A tear zigzags down his cheek; I wipe it away.

"You'll want to save those for later. You're going to need them."

I bend him over our bed and pull down his sleep pants, just enough, so his cock is out and will rub against the sheets and his ass is displayed for me. "You aren't cumming tonight, is that understood?" I say as I slick his crack with lube. "You are for my enjoyment."

"Yes, sir." It comes out as a bit of a groan. Sam always claims orgasm control is the hardest for him, yet I think he's a rock star at it.

"Good. Spread your legs enough to keep these pants exactly where I've placed them. Every time you disobey, that's a day in chastity. Obey me and I will reward you with the orgasm of your life before I leave."

"Yes, sir."

I use one of our many dildos to slowly work my husband open. Sam's ass is well seasoned and I can do this without harming him in anyway. God I love admiring his ass. It's large and muscled and perfect—both of us keep in good shape. His responses to the dildo make it that much more gorgeous, keening back, unable to do much of anything except take what I give him; trying not to grind into the mattress.

I take my pajama pants off and unleash my cock who's been dying to get inside Sam's tight ass since we got home. Age has done nothing to diminish my sex drive, or Sam's—thank the good Lord. I toss the dildo aside and slowly sink my cock into him. I go slow both for his benefit and mine. I love watching my cock slide into Sam's ass, it never gets old. "Oh, God. I love your cock, sir."

I'm not the kind that tells my 'sub' to be quiet, at least not anymore. Not that I never would, there's a time for it, sure, but not now. I'd rather hear him. I love hearing what Sam says. We've never been your standard sub, dom combo anyway, which is why we didn't spend so much time in 'the scene.' We learned what we needed to and left; Sam and I have always made our own way.

It doesn't take me long, which I'm sure he's grateful for and I'm cumming inside his ass. "You're mine, Sam."

"Yes, sir."

I pull him up and remove his sleep pants; I catch him looking at my cock, just a casual glance as he places his eyes where they're supposed to be, which is at the ground directly in front of him. I slap his ass hard for that and smile. "You'd like to lick the cum off my cock, wouldn't you, Baby?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you deserve to taste me?"

"No, sir."

"That's right. Maybe later, we'll see how well you can behave. Stay here."

I go into the closet to retrieve a stool I'd put there earlier. It's about four feet high and has a top that's rectangle shaped and only one foot by four feet, just big enough for the large man to kneel on. It will be difficult for him to balance. It's completely made of wood, including the seat, and in our younger years, I would have had him kneel on the wood alone—his knees would have suffered along with the rest of him—but we are in our fifties despite the good care we've taken of ourselves and joints don't last forever. So when I bring out the stool, I fold a soft blanket and place it over the top to protect his knees.

"Come," I beckon Sam. His eyes widen when he sees what I've got; he knows what I use this for, it might be just this side of torturous. He doesn't like it much.

"Would you like to safe word?" I ask, even though I know Sam knows well he can and that Sam rarely safe words. There is no safe wording out of spankings in our house (that's what's agreed to upon entering a domestic discipline relationship,) but this is different, a whole other level and extending outside the realm of domestic discipline. For this, it's important he have an out.

"No, sir."

"Thank-you, Baby."

I gesture for him to take position; he knows how I want him. It's a bit difficult for him to maneuver his way onto the small seat with his arms tied at the wrists behind his back, but Sam's a pro and he manages with only a little difficulty.

He kneels in a bowed position, so with his chest toward his knees. Normally, he'd have the floor to support the weight of his chest, but on the stool he has nothing and his torso has to hang in space, his ass is nice and high for me, still oozing with my cum. None of it is comfortable. "You will take four implements in this position," I say knowing that's enough to make him cringe. Sam is an expert at taking pain, needs it even, but this position is hard. He'll feel off balance, his stabilizer muscles will have to work overtime, they'll get tired before long; he'll have to overcome his physical fatigue with intense mental strength.

Knowing Sam as long as I've known him has its benefits. Without him having moved, or uttering a sound, I know he's doubting his abilities. I run my hand over his bare flesh. "I know you can do this, Baby, or I wouldn't have you do it. It will challenge you, but you'll be able to do it." I've never asked Sam to take four on my special little stool. Three's the most he's ever taken.

"What's your safe word, Baby?"

"Red, sir."

I also know safe wording is not as easy as it sounds. Submissive-types are pleasers by nature, they want to make their 'dom' proud. As much as they might not want to do something, or like it even, they're apt to do it, because their 'dom' has requested it. It's the reason I chose this as punishment. Sam hates this, but it's meant to push his boundaries, show him what he's made of while at the same time reestablish our roles since he has stepped outside of those roles and he has displeased me in doing so. Considering all that, he's afraid he'll fail this punishment, that he'll displease me more by the failing—the very thing that earned him this punishment in the first place—but if he can make it through, he'll feel absolved inside. There is no scoreboard between Sam and I, but his personality can't help, but feel like he 'owes' me; this will even out the scoreboard in his mind. If he does this, he can stop thinking about what I might feel over his actions. So no, he won't want to safe word—it's why I've got to tell him over and over again that he should.

I'm not worried though: Sam can do this.

I start with my flogger. Flogger sounds scary, but it's a light implement, least this one is. This one will have more effect on his cock than it will his flesh. Sam moans as I work him over, hitting every bit of available skin. "You like that, Baby?"

"Yes, sir," he pants.

"It's too bad you're not allowed an orgasm tonight. I would have liked to make you cum so hard, but if you're a good boy, I'll let you suck my cock, so I can cum. I shouldn't be deprived for your poor behavior, should I, Baby?"

"No, sir. Please. I-I want to suck your cock so bad." He lets go another moan as I fleck at his skin that's turning a shade of pink. I make sure to spend a long time with the flogger, so his skin is warmed up as well as his cock. By the time I'm ready to take out my next implement, I know I've achieved both, Sam looks like he's experiencing that conundrum of pain and pleasure.

The next piece I take out is a tawse. "How you doing, Baby?"

"Good, sir. M-my cock is aching, sir."

All as expected. I don't expect he'll have real trouble 'till after this one—this one will hurt a lot more than the flogger. I begin on his ass, it makes him jump a little, and lose his balance just a bit, so he has to catch himself. The sadist in me smiles. He's already got the hang of how he should balance by the fifth strike to his ass, so I keep going with strikes that are enough to make his skin an intense cherry red, but not leave any marks. I plan to leave my marks with something else.

Sam likes leaving these sessions with markings—they're a trophy of sorts, something he'll wear proudly. People outside of 'the scene' often cringe at the thought of 'being marked,' but many 'subs' want markings. Something to remember their 'dom' by, but in our case it's just Sam wanting to remember me all through the next day and remembering himself—what he's achieved. I'll make sure to give him some nice ones.

The tawse on his back is hard and makes him cry out. I'm not easy on him and I can already see him getting tired by the time I reach the tender bottoms of his feet. That's what starts the tears. I give him a little break and some water before I move onto the next thing, which is my strap and the belt I'll wear to work tomorrow. He can look at it, remember and shiver—Sam'll like that.

My belt is what I want to leave my marks with. Thick, red welts that are just slightly raised, but won't cut the skin, or make him bleed. Sam's skin is pretty tender by this point and he's fatigued. Balance is becoming an issue, I can see him fighting. "Please, sir. I-I can't take anymore—it's too much."

"No problem, Baby. I'll stop, just as soon as you safe word. Would you like to safe word?"

This is one of the ways deep trust comes in, in our relationship. Most only concern themselves with the 'dom' and the trust the 'sub' must have in the 'dom,' not to go overboard and hurt them beyond repair. They forget the trust has to go the other way: The 'dom' must be able to trust that their 'sub' will safe word. It isn't fair to the 'dom' if the 'sub' doesn't communicate in this way and makes them a dangerous partner for play.

But I trust Sam. He will tell me. We've already made this mistake when we were much younger; it's never happened again.

"No, sir."

"Okay then. I think you can take a lot more, Baby."

Sam is sagging on the stool by the time I reach the last implement. He's got little reserve left, but I'm going to push him, it's important I do. "Kneel up for me, Baby, I want to take a look at that cock of yours."

It takes effort, but he does it. It's practically purple. "I'll bet that hurts."

"Yes, sir." He's crying, but they're not the kind of tears that bother me. These tears I like and tears he needs. "P-please, may I cum, sir?"

"I don't think so, I meant what I said, Baby. All right, kneel back down, just one more." I know he's internally groaning and I'd be lying if I didn't admit to fucking loving that. My cock loves it; I hope to Christ he'll still have enough in him to suck my cock later.

I rub my medium cane across his ass and he squirms at the familiar sensation. "I want you to let go Sam. Feel my cane and feel everything let go. Do you know why you can let everything go?"

"Because you take care of me."

"That's right. I take care of you. You don't have to worry about a thing while I'm around. That seems to be a misunderstanding of late, but I think it's all cleared up now and if not, it will be after this. Yes?"

"Y-yes, sir."

I only give him a few on his ass, saving that place for something else. The rest, I apply to his back, shoulders and feet. He's crying and begging, but as much as he wants it to end, Sam will still be hard and leaking.

I throw down the cane and run a hand over the lovely, red skin which I've marked to my liking. "See? You did it, Baby. You were so, so good." I pull him up into a rough, possessive kiss.

Somehow, Sam finds the energy to smile hazily at me. "C'mon, let's get you down, we still have one more thing to take care of don't we?"

"Yes, Cassy."

Even without a collar, and therefore the removal of that collar, he knows when that portion of the evening has come to an end. Our dance has a series of practiced moves, twists and turns we've perfected over the years, we know how to navigate them without such signals as collars. We used to need them of course, but now we just know each other.

I untie the rope and I help him down, his legs a bit wobbly from being in the position so long. Before we do anything else, I want him back with me, so I help him over to the bed and lie with him a long while. I'll rub him down with aloe before we sleep and in the morning. I'll make sure he has a hot bath.

"One last thing," I say later, when I know he's back with me and I get up to retrieve the black rubber paddle. "Do you think you can lie over my knees Baby?"

"Of course, Cas. I've still got some years to go before that's my limit."

"You sound awfully cheeky for someone who's just been punished, so."

His laugh is soft. "I just want you to know I'm okay. You were right as always, I did it," he says proud of himself.

"Message received. Get your ass over my knees."

Despite his Dean-like cheek (sometimes I don't know who learned it from who) he's slow to get over my knees. "Do you know why we need to use this?"

"I broke a bunch of rules. Cas, I'm sorry, so sorry."

"And I know why you did, but who takes care of our home?"

"You do Cas."

"We decided that together, didn't we?"

"We did."

"How many rules did you break?"

"I think four, since you spanked me the last time."

"At least four. That's a lot Samuel."

"I know. I'm sorry, Cassy, I…please spank me?"

"Oh I'm going to. This is much more than 'Sam gone wild.' Whatever you're worried about over Dean, you come to me, despite what it might mean for Dean. Am I understood?" Fuck. Those two. Always 'protecting' the other, sometimes to the other's detriment. I get yet another thing I didn't before; Sam knew I'd want to hire security again and as aforementioned, Dean won't like that. I'm not concerned with what Dean will and won't like when it's with regard to his safety and Sam shouldn't be either. I feel a whole lot less guilty carrying through with this part of our agreement.

"Yes, Cas. You're right. But I really do think it's just me being paranoid, you know if I thought there really was danger, I wouldn't hesitate to hire security."

"I know, Baby. I know how much you love our son. But you should trust your intuition, it's been very good to us." I let him think about that as I rub his ass. "That makes four hundred. I'm going to start with fifty tonight—I think that's all your ass can take."

"And after…well don't I get to…"

"You still have the energy to suck my cock, Baby?"

"That's what kept me going through that awful punishment. 'Sides, I can feel what's poking into me, please, let me relieve you Cassy?"

I smile. "Who am I do deny you when you beg so prettily?"

Chapter Text

Monday Afternoon-After School

I'm nervous as fucking hell.

I managed to make it through the rest of school without injury, but that's about to fucking end. Not that I'm going to be physically injured, but Michael is going to flip. When I get a freaking paper cut, Michael bans me from using all paper products until he feels comfortable I can be 'responsible' around them again. We usually end up cleaning his apartment at least once. When I play hockey, he sometimes gets kicked out of the arena—my father forbid him coming my whole first year, after it proved too difficult for him; in which he was the most irascible jerk. That almost got him forbidden from the house until Daddy had a talk with him.

But I've got a nice shiny black eye, even though I wasn't fucking punched in the eye. Apparently you only have to be punched in the eye/nose area to achieve black eye. We iced it, but that did shit. I was so stressed about it all day, I couldn't even do sex stuff with Brad.

At least I get to drive over, but I don't know if that's better or worse—prolonging the agony. Of course I'm going to try lying, but that's never worked out too well with Michael. I may have tricked him once, but that was an entirely different set of circumstances. I was able to tell a truth-lie. I'm having a little trouble coming up with one of those.

With absolutely nothing to go on (where are you now old Dean?) I enter his building with the fob I have, and Tom admits me before I have a chance to open the sliding door to Michael's loft. Tom's eyes widen in 'oh fuck' when he sees me. "Where is he?" I say in a bad fucking mood.

Tom, the angel, swallows. It doesn't matter that Tom has all his grace and has a fuck load more strength than Michael, Michael can be a scary mother fucker when he wants to be—this may well be cause for him to panic. "In his office, sir."

I head in. Might as well get this shit over with. Michael's on the phone and by the sound of it, it's fucking Lucifer. Of course it is. Now he'll be in a raging bad mood. "Yes, sir. I'll be there tomorrow Father." He hangs up his phone and puts it on his desk, scrubbing his hands over his face—he looks ragged. In much too tired a state to hang out or give spankings, in fact, it's probably better I just go…

I stand up to leave, that means I'm turned around so he can't fucking see my face. "Dean? Wait. Where are you going? Come back. I was looking forward to seeing you."

Okay. Might as well get this over with. I turn around; he's looking at me and all kinds of fucking emotions are sliding across his face. The most prominent one of all: Anger. "Dean? Your face…what the fuck happened?" He gets up approaching me and god damn if he isn't terrifying. I start backing up just a bit and lose all my fucking gull. All I can do is stare at the menacing archangel. I know he won't hurt me; that's not soothing in the least.

"L-l-look, M-Michael…it was all a huge accident."

He grabs my face; his grip is incredibly gentle, like he's cradling an egg and is juxtapose with the homicidal rage coursing through his entire vessel. I sometimes forget the dangers in having an archangel for a bedmate; now I'm reminded. "Tell me. Dean." He doesn't even raise his voice an octave, doesn't change how deadly it sounds. So, um, abort fucking mission. I'm not lying, but maybe I can phrase it so it sounds more like my fault? Mark's a dick, but he doesn't deserve death and Michael will kill him.

"O-okay, but you're freaking me out. Can we turn down the archangel on a rampage just a notch?"


Fuck. I take a deep breath, my heart is beating like fucking hummingbird wings. "I-I was working out with this dude and we got into a bit of a scrap—it was all my fault, all my fault," I say twice hoping to Christ he'll hear it. "He got a few in on me, but that's it. You should see the other guy. Brad came in time, he stopped us."

Michael knows I can't fight and considers me a defenseless puppy, but telling him about my brush with old Dean isn't going to make any difference right now and I'd rather keep that one to myself if I can.

He hurls himself away from me and takes his anger out on his desk, flipping it over and sending it flying at the wall. All the pictures hanging, smash and the standing lamp in the corner breaks in half. "What good is it, having a giant football jock boyfriend, if he can't even fucking protect you when necessary?"

"H-he was in class."

"Why weren't you in class?" he says spinning back around.

Shit. "English is done for term, I had a spare."

"I'll risk making an ass out of myself and assume your parents don't know?"

I run a hand through my hair. "No, okay."

"How many classes do you have left Dean?"

I skip all my normal, 'it's not your business,' bullshit. "Just two."

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

He's going to see anyway. I lift my shirt. "Just a few bruises here, but I'm okay, Michael."

He comes over to inspect them and I don't think he thinks they're 'just a couple of bruises.' "It was stupid, just two boys goofing around, it's no big deal…"

He pulls my shirt back down roughly. "It's not 'no big deal.' This is a very big deal. Who the fuck did this Dean? I'm going to rip their lungs out."

"Just a kid from school," I say. No way am I fucking telling him.

Michael grabs me and pushes me up against the wall. "Who, Dean?"

I have to repeat over and over in my head that Michael won't hurt me, because there is a sliver of doubt creeping in. Man the fuck up Winchester. It's hard to do, but I do it anyway. "I-I'll f-f-fucking tell you when, you've c-calmed the fuck down."

He holds me there for a minute, piercing me with his eyes and I'm holding my fucking breath; I really don't know what he's going to do. Finally he releases me, he seems to have somehow worked a temporary noose around his temper. "That's fine Dean. Don't tell me, I can find out on my own, but until then I have to make sure you're safe."

Huh? What the fuck is he going to do?

He grabs one of my wrists, then the other and traps them over my head pushing me back against the wall again. Normally I'd make some kind of sexual remark, but I'm not stupid enough to just now, instead I'm reminded once again how useless I am up against an archangel, or an angel of any kind. He can throw me around like a ragdoll if he chooses and there's not a god damn thing I can do about it. In our everyday, he holds back.

He reaches in my pocket and takes out my keys. "Tom!"

Tom's there in a flash, Michael throws him my keys. "Take Mr. Winchester's vehicle home for him, I will be escorting him from here."

"What? Michael. What the fuck are you doing?"

He let's me go and starts walking expecting me to follow. Tom's gone.

"I'm taking you home. We're going to sort this out properly. I don't know who the culprit is at school, until then, your parents should know how much free time you have, so it can be limited. You clearly don't trust me, so we'll have them take care of it."

Oh god. This is worse than I imagined. I'm going to be sick. "I trust you Michael, but you said yourself you were going to rip the guys lungs out."

"Oh. Did you think I was offended? I'm not offended I was simply stating a fact. You can't trust me not to kill this human miscreant who thinks you're a punching bag."

"It's against the law to kill people, Michael."

"Against the law? You think I care about 'against the law?' I'm a fucking angel, Dean. I couldn't care less about human laws."

I'm not going to win at that one for the moment, so I move to something of more immediate concern. "Michael, please don't fucking tell my parents."

"They're going to see your face anyway. How were you planning on hiding that one?"

"I figured you'd want to heal me when you saw."

"You're forgetting, I need Daddy Winchester's permission to heal you."

"What? It's not like you haven't healed me without his permission before."

"Things have changed. I've become part of the family."

"Nothing's changed—you always were Michael."

"Your father is beginning to respect me even if he still hates my guts; lots has changed Dean."

"Why do you fucking care about his respect? I don't fucking get you Michael."

He shakes his head. "You don't fucking get it Dean."

He looks severely disappointed in me for reasons I don't know, but I can't stand it. I look at my feet. He slides his hand to my cheek on the side with the fucking bruise. "I'm sorry, Duck, but you don't know what this does to me," he says gently running his thumb over my bruised face.

"Can't we just Pine-Sol the shit out of your loft? That always makes you feel better. And have you already forgotten about Michael fun spankings? That is why I'm here." I grab onto his arm.

"I will be using lots of Pine-Sol, later and I've got plenty of time to collect on Michael fun spankings. You didn't put any time limit on that and I intend to take full advantage. But Dean," he says.


"I'm still taking you home right now and we're still telling your parents."

Yeah, I figured.


He's quiet in the Jeep and I'm trying to figure out a way to not get grounded for the rest of my life. And it's not just grounded I'm trying to avoid, I don't want my parents to think less of me; they'll be so disappointed I fucking lied to them, because Papa considers purposefully omitting shit, lying. Which means I have to lie again to prevent them from finding out the lie I told in the first place—but it will all be worth it, believe me.

"Can't we figure something out between us, Michael? About the me skipping school part? We don't have to tell them that part."

"I want you doing something while you're at school, not trouncing around doing whatever you like—it's not safe."

I want to point out that someday I'll be an adult, trouncing around in life and what will he do then, but I don't think that would be wise at this juncture. "I'll do whatever you say. I swear. You want me to hang out in the library researching how many different spanking instruments you can use on my ass?"

He's thinking about it, but he's not giving me an answer yet. "You have a meeting with your father tomorrow, correct?"

I think it'll get bumped up to today if he fucking rats me out. "Yes. Tomorrow."

"That's when you're going to inform him how many classes you're finished; you can say you've just finished. He can decide what's appropriate as I think my solution would be…intrusive."

"Okay, yes, done." Phew, dodged a fucking bullet there.

"And you're not going out at all this week Dean."

Wait. What? "But what about tonight and—"

"I suggest you find a way for them to rendezvous at Casa de Winchester," Michael says in a don't fucking fuck with me voice. I shut the hell up. He's not telling my parents, more specifically my father and that's good enough. I can work out the rest later.

Baby's there when we pull up to the house with no sign of Tom. I also hope to fuck Papa's not home, maybe once Daddy calms down, he can talk to Papa for me. But then I remember how gaga the two were this morning—I doubt he went to work at all.

Michael and I walk into the kitchen and I was right, they're both there, my somber appearance dampens the smiles on their faces. "Oh my God. Dean, sweetheart what happened?"

I tell them the abridged version, Michael and I agreed upon and I make sure not to bite my fucking lip the whole time. "It was just two bros scrapping—that's it. It was playful." I don't feel like that's a lie. Mark did seem like he was having fun and as much as I disagree with him, it was his version of goofing around.

"Brad and I iced it, Daddy, but it didn't seem to do much." I'm sitting on a chair and the two of them are looking me over. I feel six again. I can't stand the stares they're giving me and the looks they're exchanging having one of their silent conversations about me.

"Who is this kid, exactly?" That's Papa and I can't ignore his question, but I can't tell him either, not with Michael standing there.

"I'd like to tell you Papa, but Michael said he's going to rip his lungs out; maybe even kill him."

"Nobody is killing or ripping anyone's lungs out, do you understand Michael?" Papa says.

"He hurt, Dean."

"I don't like it either, but boys do roughhouse, I'm just disappointed you'd do such a thing at school, young man. Weren't there any teachers around?"

"I tried to walk away Papa. I swear I did, he tackled me. We were in the gym, it's not watched by teachers and especially not at lunch."

"It looks like the trust the teachers place upon students in giving them that privilege is misplaced. Furthermore, he doesn't sound like someone I want you hanging around with."

"No problems there, Papa. I don't even like the kid." Let's hope it continues to escape everyone's notice that 'the kid' is a friend of Brad's or they might not want me hanging out with Brad either.

"Okay, I think that matter is settled."


"May I heal him, sir?" Michael interjects.

Papa looks at Daddy, who's been awfully quiet. Daddy shakes his head. "No Michael."

Michael growls and refrains from smashing anything.

"I'm not comfortable with you going out tonight Dean. I'm sorry, you don't know what seeing your face like that does to me," Papa says.

And Michael and Father say they never agree on anything.

"I'm sorry Dean Bean," Daddy finally speaks up. "I'm with your father on this one."

He would have said that anyway, but I know what he means. "Yes, sir," I say to them both. "Would you be all right with my friends coming here?"

Papa looks to Daddy and he nods. "Your friends may come here."

This actually works in my benefit, it's much easier to explain Papa said I couldn't go out than to explain Michael said so.

No one can stop looking at me and I just want to get the fuck out of here before someone figures something out, or Michael cracks and tells them the truth. Daddy's looking at me the most, still real quiet and it's making me fucking nervous.

"So, uh, Daddy you got any after school snacks for me? I'm starved."

Finally Daddy cracks a smile. "Sure, Dean Bean. I'll whip you up a Deanwich. Michael you want one?"

I kind of hope he'll leave actually, I don't trust him not to break. The longer he stares at my face, the more of a liability he becomes. "Yes please, sir. I'd love a Deanwich," he says taking a seat next to me in a purposeful way that says something too: He's not going anywhere for as long as he can. He doesn't even fucking like Deanwiches.

Thank God Papa has work to do. "Well Winchesters, I must depart. Lots to get together for work before my trip. I shall see you all at dinner."

When he leaves we now have something else to marvel over. "Whoa Daddy, did you hear that?"

"I know. Wow. Your father must be in a good mood," he says knowing he's the reason for that good mood.

"What? What'd'I miss?" Michael says.

"He called us all Winchesters Michael. You are so in," I wink at him. Hoping it fucking gets his mind off of my bruised face. I don't think anything will, but it's worth a shot.

It does surprise him more than I thought it would. "He, he did? He did. I…wow." He's smiling huge; I think he's proud of himself.

Daddy's quick with the Deanwiches, he sets one before each of us. "Cas really appreciates you bringing him home with his face like that, Michael. You did the right thing and earned yourself some brownie points."

Michael blushes. "I guess. I was only doing what I thought was right."

Fucking suck up. I nudge his knee with my knee, but when he looks up at me he's smiling like you think angels would smile and I can't help it, I'm staring at him and I can't stop.

"All right, three's a crowd. I'm gonna leave you two alone," Daddy says clearly seeing we're having some kind of a moment. "What time are your friends coming over Dean? You want me to make snacks?"

"Um, yeah. That'd be great Daddy," I say still looking at Michael. "I'm not sure on a time though, can I get back to you?"

He stops by and kisses my crown. "Sure, Dean Bean." And he's gone.

Michael's face sinks back into his scowl. "Aw, c'mon Michael, I thought we were celebrating. Papa's starting to like you."

"Papa," he says in air quotes, "is mildly accepting me. I'm not fooled. And I'm still pissed at you."

"It wasn't my fault, Michael."

"You know what I'm referring to."

"Can I make it up to you? I could suck your—"

He slams his fist down on the table. I jump. "Sex is not going to solve all our problems, Dean."

I'm quiet after that, because I'm trying not to fucking cry. I stuff my face with Deanwich, while he stares at said face, until he can't anymore and pushes away from the table. "Where you going?"

"To plead with Daddy Winchester. I can't look at it Dean and not have homicidal thoughts. Your father may not accept me long, because when I find out who did this, I am going to kill them."

Yep. This still went every bit as bad as I thought it would, but I decide it could have gone worse, Michael could have ratted me out for the school thing, so I'm grateful for that much.

But now I'm fucking alone and feeling sorry for myself anyway. I wipe the tear away, with the back of my hand, the one that's been threatening to fall for a while now. I'm not so upset I can't eat though, I finish my sandwich and clean up the plates. Michael's sandwich is almost untouched, except a bite or two, so I put it in a container in the fridge, that'll be a great snack later.

I text Brad and have to break the news to him. I heavily, stress the idiot thing his friend did and he's more apologetic this time, considering the fucking hell it's resulted in for me. He says it won't be a problem to have the double date at my place and that seven should work.

Michael looks sullen and defeated when he comes back, I guess Daddy told him off. "I'm going to go now, Duck. You're staying here," he reminds me.

His hand slides over my face again, just touching my bruises, but not pressing on them, so they would hurt. "You sure you don't want to Michael fun spank me? It might…make you less mad at me."

"Definitely not. That would just make it more confusing. I don't want you feeling like you emotionally owe me anything."

"I don't see the difference—either way I owe them to you. I lost the bet, remember?"

"That is much different and if you don't understand the difference, then it's a good thing you have me to point it out to you."

We're quiet for a minute, just staring at each other. "Michael? I don't want you to go all mad at me. Please, just tell me what I can do to make you less mad."

"You're doing it, by staying here, though breaking the legs of the atrocity who did this would do wonders as well. It's not like you're any good at fighting back, he could have done much worse—I should have been there."

I change my mind. Maybe telling him what happened would help. I smile. "I kicked his fucking ass Michael."


"Yeah. It was amazing—I'm not sure where it came from, but suddenly I was the fucking karate kid of everything."

His jaw gets tight and his eyes narrow; it's not quite what I was expecting. I'm fucking striking out all over the place with Michael; you'd think I didn't know him at all. "I am displeased. You should have told me this before. I get the lying to your parents thing, that's normal teenage behavior, a rite of passage sort of thing, but we are different. This is meant to be a relationship of trust and I feel like I can't trust you Dean."

I feel like someone took all my breathe away.

"It's one thing to tell me, Michael, you don't look fat in that dress, but another to hide something like this considering who you were. This is something a partner would want to know."

Now I'm pissed. "Oh? So we're partners now?" I say as fucking sarcastically as I can.

"I guess not."

Now we're both in a fucking stand off and we've done this enough to know it's just going to fucking escalate from here, Michael and I know exactly how to hurt the other one. We're both ready to draw our metaphorical pistols, but then Michael takes a deep breath to calm himself. "I have to go before I say more things I'm going to regret. Not a toe off this property, Dean, except to go to school. I expect to be obeyed."

He leans in and presses a hard, possessive kiss to my lips and fuck if my dick doesn't harden. I'm so upset and emotionally wrought, I didn't think I had it in me, but I guess dudes really are different than chicks in that way. I nod when he pulls away. "I will, I swear, Michael." I grab onto him in a desperate attempt to keep him here a moment longer and jump up so my legs are wrapped around him too. I know I'm being fucking dramatic, but I dunno, this whole thing's sprouted this pit of despair in my stomach.

Fucking thankfully, he wraps his arms around me tightly. "I'm a fucking angel Dean. I still don't think you know what that means. You're my…my profound bond; that makes it worse. I don't have the words to articulate how it feels knowing some asshole beat you up and I can't do a single thing about it, not even heal you. I feel useless to you."

"You're not Michael, I swear." I'm crying into his shoulder and I think I get what he doesn't know how to say. Getting me to stay home is the only control he has over the situation. He feels like he's doing something to protect me.

He lets me go and I hop down, wiping my fucking eyes. "Are we, are we good?"

"I'm angry Dean, but we will be good. I need to fucking sort this out in my head. Just have fun tonight, okay? Don't worry another thought about it."

I nod, but I don’t know how that's fucking possible. "Okay."

He gives me another kiss then he's gone and there's only one thing that can fucking cheer me up right now.

He's in the living room, kicking back with a book. "Daddy?"

Daddy knows right away. He puts his book aside and opens his arms. "C'mere Dean Bean."

I fall into his arms, so fucking grateful for them and Daddy lets me cry to my heart's content all the while running fingers through my hair. "It's going to be okay, Dean. I know it seems like the end of the world right now."

"I'm such an idiot, Daddy. I'm always doing the wrong thing with Michael."

"That's part of relationships sweetheart. You don't think your father and I had our share of fudge-ups?"

"You two are perfect."

He bursts out laughing. "We are not perfect Dean and we're not trying to be. In the beginning, and that just so happened to be about when we were your age, we made so many mistakes. We even broke up once."

"I know Daddy, doesn't mean I like to be reminded of it."

"Don't concern yourself about that sweetheart, your papa and I aren't breaking up ever again."

"Jesus H. Daddy. Don't talk to me about stuff like that."

He laughs, but I don't think it's funny.

"Well there will be no break-ups in this house thank-you very much."

"Because Dean says so?"

"Yeah because Dean says so. Jeez Daddy, I'd never survive it."

"You don't worry about it, I'm sorry I freaked you out. You're so sensitive," he teases.

Yeah I'm fucking sensitive about that. "So the get along game comes over at seven. What'cha gonna make for us?"

"Depends. What will you do?"

"Maybe play some pool. Watch a movie."

"Beer and peanuts it is."

My eyes go wide. "You'd let us drink beer?"

He bursts out laughing. "No, but you should have seen your face." He's using his Colt ways to make me laugh. It's working.

"Not nice, Daddy," I tell him, but I'm laughing.

"How about I surprise you? I'll make it good. I'm so excited, I'm really glad you're making some friends."

"I have plenty of friends."

"But not from school. I think you should have some school friends."

"There you go. Friends. Will you stop worrying?"

"Never. Not even when I'm gone. I'll be up in heaven looking down on my Dean Bean."

"You were supposed to make me feel better, Daddy, this conversation is seriously bumming me out."

He smiles. "Okay, okay. Tell you what, go change then come help me make dinner and I will let you drink one beer while we cook. One. This is not license for you to drink, Sur."

I throw my hands up like I'm in a stick up. "I won't. I won't. Jeez." They believe in the whole 'teaching me how to drink responsibly' thing, so it doesn't happen all the time, but on very rare occasions.

"Okay, get. I'll see you in twenty. And we're going to ice that eye some before your friends get here, I'll put some arnica on it before bed."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Excuse me Dean Winchester?"

"Yes, sir."


We hang out downstairs in the rec room where the pool table is and Daddy out does himself, seriously fucking excited about me having friends over. We get popcorn, and a whole bunch of Daddy approved junk, like some of his homemade brownies he took out of the freezer and warmed up and even some chips which I didn't even know we had in the house, but they're the fucking fancy kind, made with 'real' potatoes and sprinkled with sea salt. They do taste a helluva lot better than the other kind. He also makes us a special non-alcoholic beverage. My new friends are very impressed with Daddy, but they're fucking scared of Papa.

He of course had to 'meet them' (even though he'd already met them on the day of the big fundraiser cooking party) and I'm pretty sure he liked Kelsey and Ryan, but when we got downstairs, they were spooked by him enough to comment. "Whoa dude, your dad didn't seem that strict the first time. I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with him. He looks like the ground first, ask questions later kind of guy."

They have him to a tee, but I feel fucking defensive. He might be a strict guy, but he's the best Papa I know. "He's just protective. He's a good guy once you get to know him. Besides, you'll have to excuse him, he's a bit pissed about this," I say pointing to my eye.

"Right, we're sorry about that Dean," Kelsey says.

"Not your fault."

"We feel responsible, since he's one of us. A few of us talked to him, including your sweetheart," Ryan says nodding toward Brad who's behind me. "Mark feels bad, he'll leave you alone."

That must mean he didn't voice a word of complaint about the shit-kicking I gave him. I kind of feel like a bit of a pussy. "Thanks for, uh, saying something that is." I remember I promised Brad I'd try hard to be friendly. "It was just, surprising."

After all that's out of the way, the night is fun. I like Kelsey and Ryan. They are the most normal of Brad's football family and well, Kelsey is only football family by 'marriage,' she's not a cheerleader, maybe that makes her a little more 'normal.'

There's only one thing bubbling under the surface of the evening, but it never really reaches a peak, so I consider the evening a success in general. First, I realize that I feel zero weirdness toward Kelsey, because if you'll remember, we did fuck. But that's all it was. She must not have told Ryan, or I'm sure he would be marking his territory all night—which is what I think Brad's fucking doing.

I stupidly told him about Kelsey and I on our first date, which I also assumed would be our last date. He keeps pulling me close to him all night and I can tell he doesn't like it when Kelsey and I laugh at something together.

After a couple rounds of pool, we decide to watch the movie in the dark, so we can make-out, as teenagers do, though I really fucking hope neither of my parents come downstairs. They seem to be leaving us alone for the most part, in some ways my parents can be kinda 'cool.'

Ryan's busy with Kelsey, so Brad feels free to massage my dick through my jeans as he kisses my neck. And sucks a little more than he should. "Brad," I hiss at him. "Michael will be pissed if you leave hickies." I don't need to fucking deal with that shit right now.

"Sorry, Sugar. You're just so delicious."

"And you want to fucking mark me," I whisper in his ear.


"It's okay, babe. Normally, I'd really like that."

He smiles and we continue to tease each other through the whole fucking movie. It's maddening and I'm definitely going to have to tug one out later, but it's fun and Brad has me giggling by the end of the night; he's somehow managed to make me forget all about my fight with Michael and have a good time. Ryan and Kelsey are too distracted with each other to worry about us. When we get close to their school night curfews, we head upstairs, they respectfully head into the upstairs living room where my parents are, to thank them. Daddy turns on his southern charm. "It was my pleasure. Y'all come back now, y'hear?" Could he be anymore clique?

I head back in after saying goodbye to…I guess my friends. That was a positive experience and I think they want to hang out again.

"How's the eye, Kiddo?" Papa asks.

"I'm okay."

"I want to ice it a bit more, fetch me some ice from the freezer? And also the arnica, some white bandages and a wet dishcloth baby."

I go do as bid, not wanting to mess with Daddy when he goes into his taking-care-of-Dean mode. Both Papa and I know the folly of that. When I come back, he gets me to lay with my head on his lap as he carefully ices around the eye without icing my actual eye, since you can actually freeze your eyeballs. When that's all done, he spreads the arnica around my eye and puts the bandages on in such a way they don't cover my eye, but the arnica won't get in my eye. "That'll reduce it a ton, we can take that off in the morning."

"Thank-you, Daddy."

"Okay, Dean. Bedtime, you've got school in the morning," Papa says.

I might as well come clean now, save me one thing to dread about tomorrow. "About that, I've been meaning to tell you, some of my classes are done, I don't have class in the morning."

Papa doesn’t look pleased. "I would have appreciated knowing, son."

"I know, sir. But with the fundraiser, well I just never got around to it." That's not a lie. If I had intended on telling them, I wouldn't have been thinking about it anyway. Daddy's looking at me a bit funny, I check my lip; not biting, but for some reason I still don't feel safe from his methods of derision. If he suspects anything, he doesn't say.

"Come here, please."

Crap. I walk over to Papa like I'm walking the plank. When I get to him, he hauls off and whacks me good, but just once. I'm still left rubbing my ass.

"Go to bed, Dean" he says smirking at me.

"Yes, sir."

Chapter Text


Papa leaves tomorrow and as usual, there's a little of that somberness in the air. We've all gotten used to it—apparently I was quite a terror when I was little and missed Papa.

"Good morning, Kiddo. You sleep well?" Papa asks me when I wander down to the kitchen all dressed for school. No one said I could stay home, since I don't have class first thing, and I'm not daring enough to inquire.

"I didn't stay up on my phone all night if that's what you're asking, Papa. I'm not that stupid."

"Me? Would I imply such a thing?"

"Yes you would, Sur," Daddy says to Papa serving us all some breakfast and sitting down with us. We laugh. Ah. Back to normal, for now.

"I'm caught and I’m glad to hear you went to bed when I told you to, a trend I expect you to continue while I'm away until you're done exams."

"Yes, sir. And after that?"

"Well, it is the summer, so I can make some allowances, but I expect you to take care of yourself Dean."

"We all know you get sick as soon as we land in Texas, maybe we can avoid that this year if you get some extra sleep."

"What? I do not. I'm not a little kid anymore, Daddy."

"Yep. Every year since you were three-years-old."

"That can't be true."

"We remember sweetheart—we were the ones not getting any sleep," Daddy winks at me. "But we didn't mind a bit, did we Cassy?"

"Not in the least," Papa lies unconvincingly.

"How's your face, Dean bean?" Daddy asks.

"It's fine. Though I gotta say, after all the kafuffle yesterday, I'm surprised Michael's not—"

"Hello Winchesters," Michael says more cheery than he actually is as he waltzes through the sliding glass door of the kitchen interrupting breakfast. Papa's glaring at him. Oh, so last night it's all 'we want to do everything Castiel Winchester approves of,' but this morning, he decides to get directly on Papa's nerves.

Michael grabs my chin and starts looking over my face. "This looks hideous."

"Thanks, jerk."

"Dean," Daddy says.

"Jerk's not a curse word now, is it?"

"Sit down, Michael. Now," Papa says. "Dean, please use more respect. While you and Michael might be okay with speaking to each other like that, within the bounds of your relationship, I do not allow that at my breakfast table, as you well know."

I want to look at my plate, but I know he'll appreciate me looking him in the eyes. "Sorry, Father."

Michael has taken a seat over the course of my scolding from Father and he's got his eyes on me; they're only marginally less heated than last night. "Would you like some breakfast, Michael?" Daddy offers.

"No thank-you, sir."

Since breakfast has suddenly become a standoff of Michael staring at me and Papa staring at Michael (pissed he's interrupted breakfast) I decide to resume eating, again, happy things are back to normal—I hope this means they'll talk less.

"So why you here, Michael?" I say after I've chewed.

"You don't know?"

I look to my parents, they both shrug not really knowing for sure, but they can probably guess. "No."

"I am here to escort you to school."

My stomach drops. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Until the culprit is apprehended, I don't feel safe with you at that place."

Jesus Christ. And there's zero point in arguing with him when he's like this. He'll calm down once my face doesn't look like night of the living dead.

"And when you can't be there?"

"Tom. He's picking you up, actually. I have to do something for my father later."

Tom. Yipee. Not that he's a bad dude; I hate having a fucking babysitter.

"One of you should accompany me. I am not his parent and can do virtually nothing in terms of legal action with the school. We should speak with the principal, the dean, whoever's carelessly running that place."

"We appreciate your concern, Michael," Papa says in his business like manner. "If it happens again, we will do so, but for now it's over and so is this discussion. Am I understood?" he says in his 'Father Winchester has spoken voice.'

"Yes, sir," Michael growls. Great. I get to drive to school with a pissed off angel.

"Dean, I expect you in the library during all of your spare blocks—I don't want you hanging out in the gym if there's no supervision. Besides, you'll be busy with this."

My stomach takes a further plunge as Father hands me the dreaded blue piece of paper, which is deceptively small for the amount of words there are always written on it. It's the stationary he uses when he assigns lines. Daddy and I hate lines.

"Seven hundred times, no spelling mistakes. Due Friday. Daddy will have to look it over seeing as I won't be here."

Fuck. Fuck me. "What're these for?"

"You're a smart boy, most of the time, you'll figure it out. We will talk after school, which you should get to, you'll want to start on that, if you're going to have them done on time."


I'm a bit of a dick to Michael on the way to school, who I know is only concerned for me, but this whole episode has seriously cramped my style. I read over the long ass set of lines Father gave me and as is probably a surprise to no one, they are for not telling him about the finished classes.

And I can already hear what Daddy would say about this whole thing, it was my choice, my poor choice that got me into trouble, not Michael telling me to come clean—which they don't know he inspired. Okay. Maybe my list of half truths have caught up with me, but still. It sucks.

Michael's not impressed with me either, his mood hardly improved from last night. "I don't see why you're upset with me. You brought this on yourself."

"Keep talking like that, I'm sure you'd be able to convince the principal you're one of my parents." I say calmly, though I feel like screaming at him, but I remind myself that Winchester's don't need to yell.

"At least your father has enough sense to confine you to the library. Let me see that note, I might have something I want to add," he continues on like I never spoke.

"Forget it. I'm not giving it to you. I shouldn't get punished twice for the same infraction. Isn't it enough you've grounded me?"

"You aren't grounded. Confining you to the house was a safety precaution. Nothing more."

Michael probably does look at it that way. "Fine," I say handing it over before he comes up with something else.

He reads it while he drives, able to do both at once with his heightened angel abilities; his eyes bug out of his head. "Whoa. Never mind. He was…thorough. I'm almost sorry."

"He's always 'thorough.'" And note to the audience at home how Father felt no guilt, nor did his expression falter when handing over the awful thing. I think my father could have been a good mob boss with that fucking immovable expression of his. "So can we please drop this Michael? They took care of it, like you wanted them to. I hate fighting with you."

Something in my world just isn't right when we're at odds.

"When you tell me who did that," he says pointing to my face. "I will drop it." He pulls into my school's parking lot. "See you tomorrow Duck. Tom will be by to pick you up. Straight home."

My blood boils just a little bit at him saying that, because I know already, I even asked Uncle Dal if he could come by the house, instead of me going to his. But before I tell him to fuck off, and get in more trouble, I notice something in his eyes and it makes me sorry for him instead. He really is ridiculous level worried about me and I'm doing nothing to make him feel better. He always does everything to make me feel better—well, unless it has to do with me being in a dangerous situation.

All thoughts of walking away and not kissing him, melt away. Besides, I know his father gets him to do dangerous things, even if he won't tell me what things, and when he leaves me for those ventures, it could be the last time I see him—I try not to think about that most of the time, but when we leave each other angry, it sticks out in my mind. I grab him by the collar of the shirt he's wearing under his blazer and pull him in for a kiss. "You're a real dick Michael," I say when I pull away; it's so juxtapose to how much love I put into the kiss it surprises him.

"But I'm…I'm—"

"Yes. You're mine. My dick. So come back to me okay?"

"Always Duck."


After last night, I'm in with Ryan and Kelsey, according to Brad, which is good because I told him I'd better skip lunch in favor of my lines and can't hang out with him. That's a huge disappointment to him, specially seeing as he wants me to befriend his football family, but he's more surprised I'm actually skipping lunch and thinks the real Dean's been abducted by aliens.

"If I fail to get these lines done on time for my father, I'll wish I could be abducted by aliens," I say and he laughs thinking I'm joking. I'm not.

Lucky I'm pro level at eating when the Librarian's not looking. I also made the mistake of telling too many people where I was, so I've had quite a few visitors, that means I've hardly completed any of my lines, which are as follows:

I Dean Daniel Jonathan Winchester, thought it would be a good idea to 'forget' to tell my parents I've completed some of my classes this semester, likely so I could goof off, but it was a poor choice, since now I'm stuck writing as much nonsense, as my father can dream up to keep me busy, instead of what I might have been permitted to do. I guess I'll never know. The most important take away for me and my budding social life: If I do it again, I can expect to be grounded for the entire summer. I'll remember because I'll have written this seven hundred times.

Yeah, he probably thinks he's funny, my father that is. This sucks balls. It's taken me six minutes to write one which means at this rate, I'm looking at four thousand two-hundred minutes, which is seventy hours, which means there's zero way I'm going to get this done if I keep goofing off.

I shake out my poor, tired hand just as Hannah saddles down beside me and leans into me. "Mmh, you smell good, Sugar. New perfume?" Hannah's a beautiful girl, which only makes me more pissed off about the whole Mark thing. It's hard to say if he really meant any of what he was saying, or just trying to rile me, either way he's a douchebag, that really should go enlist protective services to hide him since there's a deranged angel out there looking for him.

"Nope, that's just the smell of love. Dean, I'm in love."

What? No. I was kinda vague on the details yesterday because I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but I've got to warn her. I can't let her fall in love with the asshat. "In love? Mark's a big fat douche Hannah. You see this?" I say pointing to my mug. "This was defending your honor from him and his big mouth talking smack about you."

"Calm down Romeo. I've slept with most of the football team—you do that and someone's bound to 'talk smack,' I accept that and I think they can go fuck themselves. Do your face a favor next time and don't worry about it, I don't."

"Still Hannah, Mark? You can do better than that."

"You think I'm in love with Mark? I mean, decent sized cock, sort of knows what he's doing and—"

"Jesus fucking, Christ Han. Too much information," I hiss at her. The librarian's already giving us the stink eye though I don't know why, there's no one in here except Hannah and I. Everyone in their right mind is outside on a day like today.

She laughs. "Well I'm not in love with Mark," she states proudly, her eyes dancing. Oh, my god. Whoever she is in love with, she has it bad for. I've never seen Hannah fall in love.

"Who is it, Han?"

"Dr. Miller."

"What?" I shout whisper at her. "Doctor Miller? That guy's like, my parent's age."

"He looks like middle aged Harrison Ford and he's only forty-two, actually. They had their son young."

"Their son is Derek," I remind her, since she's talking about him so distantly.

"Oh calm down. I knew you were going to freak out about this, it's why I've waited to tell you, instead of spilling all the beans when we talked Sunday. We're not seeing each other exclusively at the moment anyway."

"Wait. You're actually seeing this guy?" That was me freaking out when I thought it was just some fanciful school girl infatuation, but they're actually seeing each other? I know what 'seeing' each other means in Hannah language. "You've slept with him?"

"Oh yeah and he knows what to do with his—"

"Hannah, please."

She laughs again. "You're so sensitive this morning."

"Sensitive? Hannah, he's twenty-five years older than you."

"Michael's older than you."

True, but she doesn't know just how much older. "Yeah, by like eight years."

"You're still the minor he's fucking. What's the difference?"

Okay, so I don't have much in defense of that. I mean I still think eight years is different than twenty-five, but I decide to go with a stronger point. "He's married."

"I already told you, we're not exclusive, yet."

"Yeah, because he's dating his wife."

"Jones and Alexia have an understanding. They're mostly just together for the kid right now."


"Whatever. Anyway, he's in love with me too."

"I'm sure he is."

"I thought you'd be happy for me Dean. I've listened to your Michael woes all year."

I sigh. "I am happy for you Hannah; I'm just worried. The situation doesn't sound so good, you can understand that, can't you?"

"You're the sweetest for worrying about me, but I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself."

Great. Now I think I should meet this guy. More than anything, so I can threaten to cut off his balls, Winchester style if he ever breaks Hannah's heart. "Okay, okay baby girl," I say running a hand through her hair. "Just please keep me in the know with this guy. You might trust him, but I don't—you mean the world to me, Han." I lean in an kiss her lips when the librarian's not looking.

"I know. I will Dean, you're sweet and I love you too."

"Guess it's better you like this doctor dude than Mark; he's not going to live long when Michael gets hold of him." I say when, because Michael probably will find out who he is, with or without my help.

"He's that mad, huh?"

"Like you wouldn’t believe."

"I wish I could help you out. I'm doing what I can though on the other end of things. Jones and I are investigating the case I told you about Sunday, further," she says in code not wanting to talk about it out loud.

"So I take it he knows you're not a reporter for the school paper?"

The way she smiles, I know she's thinking about him; that part's kind of nice, oh god this is going to be bad isn't it? "He knows. I just…I didn't know how to break it to you. I wasn't even going to tell you now, but it all came tumbling out. I've both been dying to tell you and dreading telling you, you know?"

"Yeah, I can understand that. All right, I owe you huge. Tell me what Jones can do with his cock."

Hannah spends lunch hour with me and I get nothing done; then I actually have a class, an exam more specifically. By the time I'm back in the library I'm a little stressed, I've still got a lot of lines to write. I should have finished sixty by now, according to my time budget, but I've only managed thirty—I'm super behind. Fuck. Thank god Papa's leaving. Right now I'm seeing Dean 'Chester with a flashlight, under the covers, writing through the night.

My day gets worse when Brad finally stops by again. He came by after first period, but then I hadn't heard from him, which I thought was weird, I was kind of hoping I'd get a visit. Something's off about him though—he doesn't look as sunny as usual. "Getting much done?"

"Not really. I'm trying but I'm so popular these days, people keep stopping by."

"Yeah, like Hannah. Dean, is there something going on between you two I should know about?"

"With Hannah?"

"Yeah. You said you couldn’t hang out and I didn't want to distract you, so I sent one of the guys to bring you extra food—I was worried you wouldn't have enough to eat babe—then I hear you spent the hour with Hannah and rumor has it, you were 'cozy.' Is it true Dean?"

Fuck. Now Brad is hurt too. "We probably were," I admit. "But that's just how we are. I swear. She's in love with some dirty old dude. Hannah and I fucked once, and figured out then we were destined for friendship. She stopped by, that's it. I didn't invite her."

"But you didn't send her away either."

"I'm notoriously bad with managing my time. I'm as easy to distract as a toddler."

He sighs heavily knowing that's true. "How many people have you fucked, exactly Dean?"

"Everyone. I'm a proud whore."

"Not everyone," he says bitterly.

I feel like saying, 'not from lack of trying,' or 'we can change that Sugar,' but I want to be respectful, especially since he's hurt. He doesn't like when I prod him for sex. We're quiet, neither really sure what to say. I figure it's a really good time to turn on the Dean charm. "You really sent me food, babe? That was sweet," I say, tugging him closer by the hand. I didn't think I'd like the guy so much, but he's really grown on me. Makes me wonder if I can't convince Michael we should have a ménage a trios? Or, maybe Michael and Brad can work out a life long joint custody agreement?

"It's not fair you giving me those eyes—dammit Dean, I'm supposed to be mad at you."

"Well for the record, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for any of that to be how it looked, 'cause it wasn't anything, I swear. If it makes you feel any better, I haven't fucked anyone, except Michael, since we've been together, and even that well's been a little dry these days," I realize as I say it.

"Really?" he says. "Just Michael?"

"Yes. I mean, I know we've never talked about being semi-exclusive, but I just got the feeling you wouldn't like me with others."

"No, I wouldn't," he says possessively and I like it. "I hate when the other guy has his hands on you and the thought of anyone else touching you makes me sick." He kisses me. "I still wish he'd let you wear my letter jacket, even if it's just when you're with me."

"Gotta have some kind of mark on me, huh?"

"You bet. Everyone wants you Dean, I want them to know you're mine."

"Tell you what? I'm a toddler who can't organize his time, how about you take advantage of that and we go celebrate our semi-exclusivity with BJ's in the bush?"

He pulls me to him and kisses me again. "Nice try, Winchester. You're staying here to finish the lines your father gave you. Jesus, Dean. I want to be able to spend time with you this summer."

"Fuck, fine. I should get back to it. How about you make sure no one else comes in here to distract me?"

"Oh, I am. I may not be able to spank you, but if anyone else comes in here and you don't kick them out pronto, I'm calling your father."

Does everyone suddenly have him on speed dial? "You wouldn't?"

"Try me."

He's serious. Holy shit. "Uh, getting to work, sir," I wink.

"I'll go get you some more food."

Thank Christ. All I've got left is this one Deanmarine from Daddy, and since I knew I wasn't going to be able to spare time to get extra from the cafeteria, I'd been rationing it and I'm starved. I pull it out and play my-don't-let-the-librarian-catch-me-eating game and get a shit load of lines done.


"So what am I supposed to do about our dear son, Samuel?"

I jump a bit, because I don't expect the question. "Sorry, I was still thinking about your cock in my ass." I haven't been able to stop daydreaming about sex with my husband since, well, since…"Okay, I'm back Cassy."

"I dunno Sam. You're still a little spacey."

"I'd tell you if I was still any bit away, you know that." It's why he stayed home again today, which is good, but I really am fine. Cas and I have long discovered what can happen when I drop, sometimes it just takes a day or so to really come back to Earth after such an intense session. "I am glad you're here though, just in case."

"Of course, Baby."

"But what about our son? That would actually be good to talk about." Talking about Dean is always a good way to bring me back.

"I really want to lengthen his curfew, but I don't think he's ready for such responsibility. He was really doing well, but…I don't buy any of what he said about 'forgetting' to tell us about the finished classes. He lied Sam."

Yes, I think so too, and that irks me. I nod. "He hasn't been honest."

"I've…I've been hard on him lately and it's just not working, I feel like I'm failing him, Sam."

I smile at my perfectionist husband. "I disagree. I think Dean needs the structure and that it takes time; I also think he is doing well with what you provide for him and Michael too. You're doing fine, Cas, I think you're being hard on yourself, as usual. Dean is a teenager approaching manhood—this is what they're like. In a few years, he'll feel bad for all the mischief he got up to now."

"I'm still disappointed in him Sam. I thought we'd really built a foundation of trust with him."

"We have, Cas, but teenagers are always seeing what they can get away with."

"It's still not right."

"Agreed, which is why I think we should take a different approach this time," I suggest. "He needs to know we didn't just fall off the turnip truck yesterday."

"I'm all ears, Baby."

"Okay. Here's what we do."


When I get home, I go immediately to Papa's office. It's never a good idea to keep him waiting. "Hey, Papa. I'm home," I say when he tells me to come in.

"Hello, son. Please have a seat."

He doesn't look too serious, but he doesn't look…not serious. I can't figure him out right now. I sit down in the cold leather chair, which creaks and loosen the tie of my school uniform. He sits where he always does for these conversations, on the edge of his desk, with his arms folded over his chest.

"Dean, your Daddy and I want the very best for you, you know that, yes?"

"Yes, Papa," I smile. "I know how much you both worry about me. If Daddy hadn't already raised a thousand Colts, I'd think you both have only child syndrome."

"You're the one who didn't want a brother or sister," he points out.

"And still don't. Worry away."

He sighs heavily. "You should know that I don't want to give you back your midnight curfew."

My stomach sinks, but I'm not surprised. I don't even think I tried to earn it back. My mind has been completely on my love life. Congratulations Dean Winchester, you're a teenage girl.

"I think you have learned you do better with more structure and not less, as we've already discussed?"

I think of Brad making me stay in the library today. I would of fucked off; instead, I caught up to my quota. "You're right, Father. I do better with structure," I sigh. "I think I have learned that over the past weeks."

"You have and I'm very proud of you for that. You've also done some other things I'm proud of you for; you followed curfew every night, came to us for help more than once when life got tough, and only managed one out burst during the whole bean fiasco, which I told you, I consider our fault, so I'm excusing you that in my evaluation. You were also a huge help during the fundraiser and likely didn't get enough praise for that."

Wow, I sound awesome, but I know he's compliment sandwiching. I'm waiting for the hammer to fall.

"We had a talk about you and Michael and, as far as I can see, you two are working things out?"

"Yes, sir. Well, he's still pissed I won't tell him about who hit me in the face, but other than that, it's good. I've found a good balance with Michael and Brad, I think. I like what I've got, currently."

"Okay, but I still want the communication flowing on that one, Dean. I'm not completely satisfied."

I think we all know Papa's not the 'just so long as you're happy' type of parent. Yes, he wants me to be happy, but if he thinks I'm fucking up my life, he will step in and interfere. It's just how the Winchester Way works; hell, it's just plain how Winchesters work.

"Yes, sir. I will. Promise."

"Michael has also been very good about that," he says irritated.

"You were hoping he wouldn't be?"

"Well, no. Not exactly."

"Is this one of those things I'll have to understand when I'm a parent?"

"I think so," he says and I decide to leave it. "Now we have to get serious, Dean."

Fuck. Here's the hammer.

"I know you were going to try to get out of Texas."

Daddy's a rat. "Yes, sir. But I didn't!" I quickly add.

"Which is the only thing saving your hide my belt right now. I will be very displeased if I ever hear that you're even thinking of not wanting to go to Texas again. It's four weeks of your life, for people who love you and don't get to see you, often. I think your grandfather Winchester would be the most disappointed—he plans all year what he's going to do with you when you get there. You'd break his heart Dean. I'd like to believe you're not really that selfish."

Daddy already said something to that effect, but I feel like even more of a heel now. "You're right, Father. I wasn't thinking of anyone, but Dean," I say and try to look at him, but I want to look at the floor.

"Thank-you for recognizing that. It's also a Winchester mandate if you'll kindly remember. We are all to give up those four weeks, but more specifically the two with the Winchesters, for family time. It will extend to you and your family, if you should decide to start one. While the two weeks with Daddy's family are not mandated, I still expect you to make them important. Sometimes work might get in the way, but you should still do what you can to make this trip a priority."

Yeah, I know all of that and I like seeing everyone. I just wanted one year off. It's probably better I don't say that though, I don't have a very good reason.

"I think I've made myself clear on that matter, once and for all, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"The only other thing I have issue with is you lying about your classes being done, don't even deny it Dean. You didn't forget."

"I didn't forget," I admit. "But I thought that's what the lines were for."

"The lines were for not telling us. You have not been punished for lying, which is a house rule."

Aw, fuck. I guess I can say goodbye to a summer of late nights. I wonder how that will work in Texas? Not to mention, house rules are non-negotiable. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, just proceed to get your spanking, sur.

"Next time when you come clean, don't half come clean. If you had been honest about not telling us about the finished classes last night, I would leave it at the lines. You tried to pass it off as if you forgot, which was a lie."

There's no way I can lie (again) when I'm caught out right like now, I do respect my parents enough not to take them as fools, but as Michael said, I'm prone to some teenage rebellion. I give a sheepish look. "You're right, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lied," I say with a down turn in my voice. "I won't do it again."

"I wish I could believe you Dean."

Fuck. Now I've hurt Papa and that hurts me. "I…I really am, sir. I'll prove it to you," I say trying not to cry.

"No, that's not what I meant Dean. I believe you are sorry, but your daddy pointed out that teenagers are prone to this type of behavior, chances are you probably will lie again then feel bad about it, but you'll do it again."

"Oh." Daddy's probably right.

"That doesn't mean I'm ever going to condone it. Expect to be punished every time I find out."

"Yes, sir." This time I do look at my feet, 'cause he's right, I do feel bad.

I feel his eyes on me, staring at me a long time before he says anything else. "Do you remember the reason I cut back your curfew in the first place?"

"Immaturity. I manipulated the Winchester Way to get what I wanted, thereby manipulating several people in the process." I hate saying it, but that's what I did.

"A later curfew is more responsibility, which means a greater level of maturity is required to handle such responsibility. I consider lies of such nature, immature Dean. There is indeed a time for lying. To save someone's life, or perhaps save someone's feelings. This lie was just immaturity, you wanted what you wanted, to have fun, instead of facing any possible responsibility I might have given you. On that note, when I give you more responsibility, even if it takes up your social time, you should consider that a compliment, not a burden.

"Considering everything, I would not feel it prudent to give you more responsibility at this juncture, but after discussing it with your daddy and because I am very appreciative of your efforts, we are giving you back your midnight curfew."

"You are?" I'm fucking stunned. "But, but…I don't deserve it Papa."

I hate to say this, because I love my daddy, but getting my curfew back because Daddy talked Papa into it feels like getting a gold ticket on American Idol from Paula and Randy, but not Simon. I don't feel like I've earned it. I'd rather have Papa proud to give me back my later curfew. It's first prize, but doesn't feel like first prize.

"Never-the-less, it's not your decision to make. So congratulations Mr. Winchester, you have a summer before you of nights a plenty. But," he says.


"Consider this probation. I want you to prove you're worthy of such responsibility, understood?"

"Yes, sir. I will. I swear." Why do I feel a bit tricked?

"It can be revoked at anytime and this conversation will be revisited at the end of the summer, unless of course you give me reason to discuss it sooner?"

"No sir. I won't."

"Good. Then we are done here."

We are? "But, when does that happen to come into effect?" Aha. Maybe that was the trick. I might have just walked out of here and 'decided' to assume my later curfew begins today, but he would have expected that and I would have been in trouble; cutting out on a punishment is a big no and a house rule.

"I said until Texas and I meant until Texas Dean."

Rats. "Just hoping, sir."

"Okay, dismissed. Do you have plans tonight? I'm hoping we can visit over dinner, I won't see you for almost a week and a half now that I'm leaving earlier."

"Uncle Dal's coming by, we were supposed to hang out, but I'm sure that means he's coming for dinner, but no other plans Papa." Seeing as Michael doesn't want me leaving the house, I don't add.

"It's a date then."

Something's still not right. Aha! Got it. I even snap my fingers and point at Papa. "I broke a house rule. Aren't I supposed to be getting spanked for that?"

"Yes, you will be, but I'm not spanking you this time."

"Then who…oh no. No, Papa please. Not Daddy."

"He's particularly irritated with you about lying and asked if he could be the one."

"But he's the one who said, boys will be boy, uh, basically."

"He still didn't like it. I'm sure he'll explain why."

"But you give manly spankings, Daddy's make me feel like I'm still six-years-old. Please Papa—I know you've been just itching to use that strap of yours."

"If you don't want to be spanked like a six-year-old, I have some advice for you: Don't lie."

In other words, he doesn't feel sorry for me. This sucks.

He smiles. "See you later, son."

Chapter Text

You're going to think I'm a giant child, but I'm hiding from Daddy. I know this will probably count against me in Father's 'evaluation' and I don't give a flying fuck. I should do the mature thing and find him and ask for the spanking that's owed, but just like when I knew I'd be getting a spanking from him when I was little, I'm hiding.

And I still have lines to work on and Michael's going to be on my ass some point with texts when he's done with whatever his father wanted and Uncle Dal will be here soon…fuck. Daddy will spank me in front of Uncle Dal. All signs point to get this fucking over with Winchester, but I'm procrastinating like a coward.

It doesn't even hurt as much when Daddy does it. No matter what he uses, he's way less harsh than Papa, but the combination of his lecture and the way he does things…I feel six and I feel like a heel. I'm not looking forward to it.

Daddy's so good at it, he's a legend. No Colt is safe from his chastisement, because all of his brothers and sisters look up to him; even Jared and Jensen. When I was younger and up to no good with my cousins, no one had any quarrel letting Daddy deal with all of us. My aunts and uncles still tell stories about something they got in trouble with Daddy over—it's something you don't forget.

I'm buried in one of the libraries we have in our giant house, somewhere I never fucking go, and I'm actually at a table getting a few lines done. That way, if Daddy does find me I can claim to be getting Papa's lines done, which I am. Fuck. I sure know how to find trouble; if only I could stay out of it.

I'm not in the library long when I get a text message from Daddy. God damn it, why did Papa have to make him into such an apple freak? Once upon a time, Daddy would never dream of getting rid of our house phone, now I can't remember the last time he's used it. Papa said he's been trying to get Daddy onto cell phones since they were sixteen—once Daddy discovered apps, he finally fell in love. Papa still complains Daddy doesn't use it as much as he'd like him to, but Daddy uses it with me, just fine. The text says:

DEAN. Get your Winchester butt to the kitchen. NOW.

Daddy also learned how to use capitols for effect in text messaging. If I don't get there quick, it will increase his ire. I'd better fucking go. I've already changed out of my school clothes and have on white t-shirt and pair of pajama pants, since I'm in for the night anyway.

I skulk my way to the kitchen where Daddy looks to be putting something together. Probably for dinner, since it's Papa's last dinner with us for a while. He always goes out of his way for Papa, especially when he's going away. I watch his large form for a few minutes before I make my presence known. You wouldn't think so, but Daddy has a sure way about him—he's got a strong body, even in his fifties that moves with certainty and conviction. All the while, his intent is gentle and loving. I notice now that his hair's gotten really long. Has Papa noticed? Normally, it's at the nape of his neck, but now, it's past his chin—Papa usually gets him to cut it before it reaches a particular point.

I remember how hard it was to get Papa to let me grow hockey hair for a year.

He's popping a casserole dish in the oven, with Papa's favorite baked ham layered inside and he's singing the theme song to The Greatest American Hero. Oh god, I can't do this. I can't wipe that smile off his face. I think I'm going to be sick. I'll text Michael. If I say the right shit, he'll have me out of here and we can live on another planet, or something. Maybe even an alternate universe, whatever, just so long as I don't have to face Daddy.

I'm turning around, ready to flee the country, but Daddy does to. "Oh no you don't Dean Daniel Jonathan Winchester, sit. Right there."

Shit. We've been over this; four names is Texan for fucked. I fucking sit. I have to wait while Daddy finishes putting his other dishes in the oven, my anxiety builds. I didn't feel any of this in Papa's office, well, not exactly. I do get that nervous feeling in my belly, but I know Papa works hard to make sure not to be too harsh, because he really can be.

Daddy's exactly the opposite. He's never harsh, but when you've pissed him off enough, it's like releasing Hell Hounds. He doesn't need to worry about being too harsh, because he's given you all the compassion, all the opportunity in the world to 'do the right thing,' once you've reached this point with him, all bets are off; you deserve what you get.

Daddy throws a dish towel over his shoulder and turns angry Colt eyes on me. He opens the drawer, the drawer that holds the dreaded wooden spoon, takes it out and places it on the ledge above the kitchen island, so I can see it. "You see that, young man? That is getting used on your bare bottom, but before I do, I'm going to make sure you know why."

I'm already blushing and I can tell I'm in for a long one. I hope to Christ Uncle Dal doesn't show up in the middle, but I don't think I'm that lucky. I should have come to see Daddy right after I left Papa's office.

"I-I know why Daddy."

"Oh no you don't. But I'm going to let you look at that and think about why it might not be a good idea to lie to your parents, while I finish up here, then we'll discuss it while you're over my knee."

"Yes, sir." God damn. Just the way he says 'over my knee' like that has my cheeks even redder than the beginning of this awful conversation. There's something about knowing you're going over someone's knee for a spanking that makes your tummy squirm, least mine does. And I know Daddy's going to want some kind of answer. Of course I can't stop looking at the thing that's going to light my ass afire. Fuck.

Daddy does a few more things, what I don't know, I've stopped looking at him and I'm focused on that fucking spoon. I've got so focused on it, I startle when he's suddenly in front of me. "Up."

I'm up and he sits where I was, the spoon is still on the counter top where he put it.

Papa lets you remove your own pants, even lets you take your pants all the way off so they're not kicking around at your ankles when the spanking gets to its intense moments. Not Daddy. He does it all for you. Something about that is less adult, less manly; makes me feel like a little kid; but Daddy believes in that old adage that if I'm going to act like a little kid, I can be spanked like one as well.

He's gentle and matter of fact when he pulls me around to his side by my wrist; he may be upset with me, but he's not angry. It would be easier for me if he were

His fingers reach under the waistband of my pajama pants and boxers at the same time and I'm briskly bared, both pulled straight down to my ankles then over his knees I go, tipped just so I'm slightly off balance. At least that part is better then I was younger and neither my hands or feet could touch the ground, though I tell you there's nothing fun about being bare bottomed, ass up over Daddy's knee, staring at the kitchen tiles, knowing you've got a punishment coming. It really fills one with a sense of humility and that's part of it. According to both my parents, spanking should bring one some sense of shame for the actions that brought you here in the first place—after all a little shame never hurt anyone.

"Daddy, I'm sorry. Really."

"So am I, Dean." Ouch.

He starts in with his large hand, which can cover much more ground than Papa's smaller hand. Papa has to spank each cheek separately, so at least there's always one getting a break, but Daddy's hand can cover enough of each ass cheek simultaneously.

The slaps are loud in the quiet room, they hurt enough to bring tears to my eyes, while I try to take my punishment like an adult when really, I just want to reach back with my hand to cover my ass and bawl like a baby. I can tell how displeased Daddy is with me and I hate it. I hate disappointing each parent for different reasons. With Daddy, he's my best friend; I feel like I've let him down; tarnished the friendship in some way. I'm proud of our relationship and that he seeks to treat me like an adult; it kills me that right now the just sees me as a naughty little boy. Twenty-five all in a row has me wanting to reach back to stop him, a natural reaction, but thankfully he gives me a little break. He doesn't rub the sting out.

"Am I getting through to you, Sur?"

"Yes, Daddy. You are. I'm sorry I lied," I say, balancing on one hand and reaching up with the other to wipe my eyes.

"Not only is this the consequence for breaking a house rule, Dean, but you've hurt us both. Your Papa went easy on you when you went behind our backs about the hunting with your uncles. He should have tanned your hide good for that, but he wants to trust you Dean—that you'll do the right thing if given the opportunity. Is he wrong?"

That's punctuated with five very sharp spanks. "No, Sir. I swear. I'll behave."

"We both feel you've been doing as you see fit an awful lot lately and if you think we won't agree with you, you do it your way and hope you don't get caught, because you know better."

That's how he sees it? "No Daddy. I don't know better; I don't think that. I just wanted to goof off," I admit. "Things have been hectic. I didn't want to be stuck in the library with one of Papa's writing assignments."

That gets me another ten from his hand, jeez that smarts. "That wasn't your decision to make. We are a family and we make decisions by talking about them together and trusting Papa to decide what's best. Or have you stopped trusting your father? Because if you have, that's something we need to discuss further."

I know this spanking is not for 'not trusting Papa,' because if I didn't, that would be something I could voice my opinion about, I am very heard in my family, I know that. Papa does his best to make sure I feel validated. If I told Daddy no, right now, I wouldn't be in trouble for that, but saying no, would be a lie. I trust Papa with my life, I really do. "I haven't Daddy. I trust Papa. I promise."

"That's what I thought. You know if you explained to Papa you needed a break he would have factored that heavily into his decision. He only makes decisions that benefit you. If he decided you needed something to do, it would have been for good reason. You're simply shirking responsibility. That's immature and I won't have it. I won't allow you to get away with behavior like this. You're much more level headed than you've been acting lately."

I get another round of spanks from his hand, so I can digest that. "Furthermore, you've not considered who you would hurt when you decided to lie. Papa thinks he's not doing a good job, being your papa; he won't tell you, but he's heartbroken Dean."

Daddy's as protective of Papa as Papa is of Daddy and I'm glad. I don't want Papa to feel like that.

"I think we've earned the same courtesy we've given you. We've given you no reason not to trust our judgment and even though you've given us plenty of reason not to trust yours, we still give you opportunity to show us that you've grown up—and then you lie. To what? Goof off? Does it seem worth it?" I get more spanks for that.

"N-no, Da-Daddy…" Man I feel like a dick.

"No," he says softly, giving my ass a rest. "It's not. We are a family unit Dean. We expect you to be a functioning part of that unit. When you do stuff like this, it makes us feel like our family doesn't mean anything to you, that you don't have respect for it, or us."

I feel like an even huger dick. I don't want my parents to think that, that I don't respect them, 'cause I do, so much. And our family, I love being a member of this family, even with…or maybe especially with all the rules and quirks. I wouldn't trade it for anything. "B-but I thought boys will be boys, Daddy?"

"They will be and I already forgive you Dean, I always will baby boy, but I need you to think of the consequences of your actions. When you belong somewhere, to a family, to a partner, to a place of work, wherever, there are always going to be rules you must obey, rules that are there for a reason, if you break them, you hurt people. It's not fair."

Daddy stands me up, and I can't help reaching back to rub out the sting—his hand fucking hurts. He starts helping me the rest of the way out of my pants as he lectures some more.

"There is a time for lying. When you want to protect someone you love," he says pausing. "It should be important, and worth any price—not because you want to goof off at school."

He wipes the tears streaming down my face. "I-I'm s-sorry Daddy. I really didn't think it would effect anyone but me."

"I hope I've helped you see things a little clearer. Let's finish up, before your uncle Dal gets here. Fetch me the spoon please."

"Can't we skip that? I've learned my lesson. I'm never lying again."

"Oh no Dean 'Chester, you will lie again. I'm certain of it, but I'm going to make sure you find it a painful experience. That way, you'll make sure the lie is worth it. Seriously Dean. Of all the immature, nonsense."

I hope to Christ they never find my fake ID. I'm burying that fucking thing.

I walk over with my already smarting ass to grab the evil thing, somewhat heartened by the fact he's trying to get this over with before Uncle Dal gets here. I'd very much like that. I snatch it up, make myself walk back to him and hand it over. He tips me straight back over his knee.

"You should feel lucky it's just the wooden spoon, Sur. I contemplated my hairbrush, I was so ticked and next time you think to make such a decision about your school schedule without permission, it will be. We make those decisions for you, not you young man," he summarizes.

"Y-yes, sir."

And just so he's clear enough, he starts in on my ass with that bastard spoon. I lose all ability to keep cool, he doesn't give me any breaks and it's all rapid fire and many in the same spot. My feet start kicking and he has to catch my hand since I'm trying to use it to protect my poor ass. "Feet down, Dean."

"I-I'm trying. F-freaking hurts."

"It's supposed to."

I keep my foot down for as long as I can, but can't help kicking it up for just a second when it gets to much and repeat. It takes Daddy forever, but eventually Daddy decides I've had enough.

"Okay," Daddy finally says. "We're done here."

I have to sink down to the floor and put my head into his lap so I can cry there some more. That was physically and emotionally exhausting. Daddy's spankings always are. He runs a hand through my hair and I hear him put the spoon down. I sit like that for a few minutes, until the sting on my skin cools. The funny thing, as intense as that was, the sting will be gone in about an hour, or so…this one maybe a bit longer, it's the chord singing through my body that will resonate long after the physical effects of the spanking's gone.

Daddy uses his thumb and pointer finger to tilt my chin upward. "Papa and I care about you so much. You got that?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"C'mon up here and put your pants back on. We have one more thing to discuss."

We do?

In no position to argue, and nor would I want to if I was, I do as asked and slip into my boxers and pajama pants somewhat gingerly. Daddy gets up to make tea, but invites me to sit at the table. I'm circumspect over what that's going to be like after that spanking, but it's not so bad, at the same time, it's not entirely comfortable—just enough to keep me in the right headspace for not getting myself into further trouble.

It takes him a few minutes, but then he hands me a mug, I notice the spoon is still on the table. "Uh, could we put that away, Daddy?"

"I think it's better left out as a reminder, just in case you should think to fudge the answer to my next question."

"Did I do something else, Daddy?"

"I know you didn't tell the whole truth about the gym incident Dean. You didn't lie exactly, but you know Papa and I consider lying by omission, lying. I'm not going to spank you again, unless I decide you're not being forthright, so tell the truth and you can save your little butt another round with my spoon."

Sounds good to me. "How the heck could you know?" I fucking suspected he was onto me. "I wasn't biting my lip."

"You think I'm going to give away all my secrets? Think again, baby boy."

I sigh. "Something did happen that I wasn't telling you, but I was going to, I kind of wanted to surprise attack you though. You ruin all my fun Daddy."

He smiles and rubs my head. "Sorry Dean Bean."

I tell him what happened when I totally kicked Mark's ass, how it was like Old Dean was there helping me out. "Papa said you were going to teach me some stuff. I was hoping our brawl would activate old Dean and I would surprise you and kick your butt. I'm pretty awesome Daddy."

He rolls his eyes at me. "It wasn't going to be a brawl Dean. I was going to teach you some simple techniques."

"Looks like I might be teaching you."

"Okay, wise guy. You're on. When we get to Texas, we'll start practicing, you can 'kick my butt with your awesome skills.' I'd like to see old Dean in action. "

"The air quotes are not appreciated, Sur," I say. Daddy laughs at me.

"What's so funny in here, cowboys?"

"Uncle Dal!" I get up and run over to him. He hugs me.

"Half-pint, what the heck did you do to make your daddy get out that?" he says releasing me.

Oh yeah, the spoon is still there. "He used it too," I say proudly. If you live through one of Daddy's spankings, you get bragging rights with everyone. "I lied so I could goof off at school."

"Dean Daniel, Jonathan," Uncle Dal says unimpressed with me. I scratch the back of my neck and look anywhere, but him, a little afraid he'll pick the spoon up and continue. Uncle Dal's no slouch in the spanking department.

"I won't do it again," I defend.

"I hope not," he shakes his head smiling. "You're trouble these days."

"He is and we love him anyway," Daddy says.

"We sure do," Uncle Dal agrees. "School's important Dean and you go to a nice school, please behave yourself."

"I will Uncle Dal."

He laughs. "Guess you are a Colt through and through. But I'm sure you've been scolded enough, it's my turn to be in trouble—I might as well just announce it to y'all. I'm really happy about it, I hope you will be too…Axl and I are getting married."

Daddy and I both hold our breath and look at each other, I know I'm biting my lip and he's balling his fists. "That's…great, Uncle Dal!" I say hugging him again. "Congratulations!"

"Is there a ring? We wanna see. Cas will be so excited for y'all," Daddy says coming over to hug him.

"Oh, you two are full of it," Dally says hugging us anyway. "I know you wanted it to happen for Chris and I—believe me, I did too."

Daddy and I may have terrible poker faces, but so does Uncle Dal—we both know this isn't what he really wants. He fucking loves Uncle Christian, more than anything. They've been on again, off again for years. Something must have happened to push Uncle Dal to this.

"So, Axl Swift?"

"Yeah," Uncle Dal begins as the three of us sit. "You guys know I've always been crazy about him too."

He has. It's pretty much been Chris and Axl for Uncle Dal with a few in between.

"You're not just settling for second place though, are you Dal?" Daddy asks.

"Well, 'course I am. If I got my pick, it'd be Chris, but I've been waiting on him for twenty-five years and it doesn't look like he's going to be settling down anytime soon. We still talk of course, all the time, like always and lately he's made it more clear just how much we are never going to happen. He won't even ask for Mr. Winchester to let me into the family because he doesn't want his father to know he's not like Cas. He keeps saying he just has to work up his nerve and every year Texas comes around and he doesn't do it. I'm done with that. A guy's got to know when to move on—it just ain't happening. I want a family; I'm getting on."

"Have you…talked with Chris about this? Does he know you're about to be 'off again' for the last time?" Daddy asks.

"Not yet, I want to tell him in person. I'm sorry it has to be this way, cowboys, but no matter how hard I've tried, he won't accept who he is. It'll never work between us unless he does."

"I thought you said he had Uncle Dal?"

He nods. "I thought so for awhile. He accepts who he is, when it's just us; he lets me give him what he needs, but he won't…come out. It's because of how he thinks Clyde will judge him. It doesn't help that Clarabelle's the same as Cas. It makes him feel less of a Winchester, being the more deferential partner."

"It's not like Uncle Chris is all that passive anyway. Grampa'll see that; I know he will."

"Your grampa knows what Chris is like anyway half-pint. It's why he is the way he is with him. Chris is trying to prove him wrong. Hard as it is though, it's not my rodeo anymore. I'm happy with Axl. We reconnected while I was on my tour and since he's been retired from hockey going on four years now, he was able to travel with me. He's been at every one of my concerts, since Memphis."

It really is nice for Uncle Dal. It's hard to believe he's in his forties, the guy still looks like he's in his late-twenties—he's got those fantastic Colt genes. I guess he does have to move on, but I can't help but feel heavy about this whole thing. It's just wrong.

"Well I am happy for you Dally. I can understand all of that. I say we have us a little pre-dinner glass of wine. Dean, will you grab for glasses for me sweetheart?"

"Sure, Daddy."

"What's going on in here?" Papa says entering the kitchen.

"Dallas is getting married," Daddy tells him, jovially, least that's how he appears, something's off about Daddy though.

"He is? I don't recall giving my permission." Holy shit, Papa's serious.

"Uh, well, you see Castiel…that is, I didn't think, I mean I'm moved out."

Yeah. Winchester's don't work like that. Uncle Dal's never quite grasped some things Winchester even if he does understand us pretty well and can explain 'us' better than me with other things.

"Sam, pour the wine. We're going to move this conversation to my office momentarily, then we'll celebrate. Come along Dallas."

I'm so glad I'm all out of trouble for the night. That look on Papa's face isn't good.

When they leave the room, I expect Daddy to do as Papa told him and pour the wine, but he doesn't. His whole demeanour changes and he looks angry; he pulls out his phone. I knew it. I knew something was off about him. "Daddy, what are you doing?"

"What's is look like? Interfering." He's dialling a number from his contacts list.

Interfering? "Are you…Daddy you can't call Uncle Chris."

"Watch me." He puts the phone to his ear.

He's going Colt. I have to stop him. No matter the cost to my tender backside, I dive for him and the phone. He sees me and tries to jump out of the way, but I catch his legs; we go tumbling to the ground; the phone gets thrown across the room. "Daddy, Papa's going to kill you."

"Some things are worth getting killed over. I like Axl fine, but I know my brother'd be happier with Chris, if Chris'd just screw his head on straight. I can help in that department."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm all for sticking my neck out for that plan, but we do need a plan Daddy. You can't just call him." I can't believe this is the man who was spanking me only moments ago for an act of irrationality—this is just what happens with Colts who think they know better.

"Hello? Hello?" Daddy and I both look at each other, Uncle Chris has answered Daddy's call. We both head across the kitchen on hands and knees trying to get to the phone first. I'm closer, so I win.

"Hello, Uncle Chris?"

"Dean? Why you calling me on your daddy's phone?"

"That's a good question," I say as Daddy's trying to take the phone away from me; I dodge all his attmepts. "And the answer's just as good and it has a lot to do with, Texas," I invent poorly.

"Is this some new teenage thing the kids do? I gotta say I don't get it Dean."

Sounds good. "You got me, Uncle Chris. Just some teenage thing."

"Actually, I'm glad y'all called. I wanted to talk to you about something, you got a minute?"

Daddy nods, having stopped trying to get the phone from me, wanting to hear too. "Yeah, sure Uncle Chris."

"I finally did it, I finally talked to Grampa about me and Dallas and everything. I'll tell you all about it, but for now I'll say, it was damn hard, but it was good. I want to marry your uncle Dal more than anything, so I finally worked up my nerve and asked permission; Grampa wants to talk with him, but I think it's a yes. I've even got a ring and everything, I'm so sure. Been planning this all year."

I'm stone quiet, because this is a fucking disaster. "Dean? Dean? You there?"

"Yeah, I'm here Uncle Chris."

"I thought you'd be more excited."

"I am excited. Just surprised is all."

"Good. That means he'll likely be surprised too. I've been chatting with him by phone while he was on tour, I really laid it on thick, made him think I'm not likely to ever take a husband—he's not going to suspect a thing."

"Nope, he sure won't suspect a thing," I say. And by the sounds of it, Uncle Chris doesn't know about Axl.

"What's with the attitude? Is this another teenager thing I don't get?"

"More than likely, sir. Uh, so when you asking him?"

"Pretty quick after y'all land at Winchester plaza and Father talks to him—I don't want to make him wait another second. I don't deserve him waiting on me this long, to get my head out of my ass I mean, but I'll make it up to him from now until forever. I know he wants a child, I do too, already been looking into it. I don't feel like we have to wait 'till that long after the wedding, it feels like we've been together twenty-five years."

Fuck. This isn't a disaster, it's a catastrophe. "Okay, Uncle Chris. I, uh…I should go."

"Yeah. You be good now." He always says that now. Uncle Chris didn't used to know a lot about kids, but he learned over the years and well, he is a Winchester—he's still the coolest of the bunch.

"Of course Uncle Chris."

When I hang up, I start panicking. "Daddy what are we going to do?"

"I don't know Dean."

"I thought we were interfering? Let's interfere." Screw getting in trouble, Daddy's right, I don't mind getting in trouble over this.

"We have to do something. If Christian asks him and finds out Dal's already engaged, he'll be too embarrassed to ever speak to Dal again. You know what Winchester pride is like."

"Yes, I most certainly do. What are we talking about?" says a voice I know well.

"Michael?" I'm ridiculously happy to see him. I am mostly happy he's not dead from whatever dangerous thing his father got him to do, but I also missed him already. I run and hug him as he comes in the sliding glass kitchen door.

"I didn't think you'd be so happy to see me," he says putting his arms around me and kissing my crown. "What are you two plotting?"

I fill him in on the fucking situation with Chris and Dal. "Are you going to run and tell Papa on us?" He deserves that one for being such a goody-good lately.

He shakes his head. "I could care less what you do about your uncles's love life. It doesn't put you in mortal danger, except maybe your bottom when Papa Winchester finds out, which I highly support. It's good for you to be brought to heel every now and again since you never listen to me."

At least he's his sarcastic self again, it must mean he's making marginal head way in getting over my black-eye.

"Other than that, I have no objections."

"Does that mean you'll help us?" I say, looking up at him.

"I wouldn't go that far, Duck. You two are on your own with this one."

Chapter Text

I was thirteen years old when Dallas was born. The Colt's have this open door birthing policy, which was hard to get used to, or well, no…nothing follows that because you have no choice except: Get used to it. You don't have to be in the room, but sometimes you end up there. Dallas was the sixth Colt I'd been around to see be born and while I was in the house for some of the others (except Caroline, Sam and I got into a huge fight that night) Dallas was the first (and only) Colt I actually saw come out of Adelaide Colt.

He was a squalling, red mess of goo, it's still by far the grossest thing I've ever seen and I stayed out of the room forever after that, but the event still managed to make Dallas extra special to me. He's extra special to Sam too, for other reasons (he doesn't mind being in rooms women are having babies in, so he's attended too many births for that to be significant) they've always had a close bond. When he was three, he clung onto Sam, like Dean used to, and came most places with us. It annoyed me, only because I was sixteen and my dick ruled my brain; I would have sold my soul to get three minutes alone with Sam, so we could try said dicks we'd recently discovered were great for fucking. But I didn't actually mind Dallas. He was and still is the quietest, most reserved Colt (unless he's singing), he's wise beyond measure, kind hearted, charitable, he's really top notch.

Long before Dallas moved in with us, I considered him one of my own, but him moving here and having him under my roof solidified that fact. Without me asking, he agreed to follow our house rules and offered me the respect that I expect from every member of my home. Instead of discounting our ways and judging us, he studied us and asked questions genuinely interested in the Winchester Way. Because while Sam's family knows we're 'different,' and even knows some of the less graphic details of how we choose to live, none of them have been as up close and personal, none of them have witnessed the things Dallas has over the past twenty-five years. He's still a Colt, no doubt, but I consider him a Winchester, as much as I do Sam and Dean.

Despite all the years living here and getting a small taste of what it's like to live by the Winchester Way, there were still things that escaped his comprehension and at the top of that list is just how much he's considered part of our nuclear family and therefore under my household flag. Perhaps I've been a bit remiss in relaying that to him, but he's about to find out.

He's got some of me in him. It's hard to say whether he picked that up along the way (highly possible) or was just born with it (also possible); Sam's Daddy is a pretty powerful force himself and Dallas takes after Samuel Colt Senior. Even sounds just like a younger version of him, so much it's eerie. I'm definitely in there though and I think Dallas knows it. What I don't know, is what's got into his head, making him think that he should be marrying Axl Swift instead of my brother, especially without my permission.

It's situations like this one, that make being head of house difficult. I'm not just here to 'boss people around,' I'm here to make important decisions for them. I don't make any of my decisions lightly. I take pride in making sure my brood is safe, healthy and happy. It's huge responsibility.

Broad shouldered Dallas sits in the leather chair in front of my desk taking up the whole space and I feel like I'm about to take on a stallion, a gentled one, but a stallion none-the-less. I don't often deal in 'tops.' I wonder if this is how my father feels when he has to deal with me, or Clarabelle?

His eyes seem apologetic, but also resolute. I know how much this boy (he still seems a boy to me, even at forty-two) respects me, he'd drown kittens before he'd let me down, but he's got the look of a man who knows he's got to do what he's got to do and damn the consequences—or rather, he's considered the consequences and he's willing to accept them. There's not a lot I can do with that, except try to reason with him. I know Dallas wouldn't make such a decision lightly. There's also some of that nervous boy tension, threaded through his posture. Much as he is a man and one like me, it's near impossible to sit in front of someone you hold in high regard, someone who has always been a 'superior,' and know you've disappointed them in some way even if you know what you've done was for the right reasons.

He's even respectfully waiting for me to have the first word and I don't mean to keep him long, not like I might with Dean, or Sam when I'm chastising them, I know each word I say's got to have impact, so I'm waiting for the perfect words to come and as I do, I must be frowning because he winces, stung.

"I'm sorry Dallas, but you couldn't have expected I would be pleased with this turn of events, could you?"

He sighs heavy, suffering. "In my estimation, I thought my chances were fifty-fifty, sir. I didn't count on the permission thing, honestly I didn't, or I would have discussed it with you first. I didn't think I was…no, now I see how silly that was…I, what I'm trying to say is, thank you brother Cas, for considering me one of yours. It means a lot."

The poor boy is fumbling, it's like watching a drunk bull. It makes me want to ease up on him, but I know that won't do him good in the long run. It's hard, but I remain firm. "Of course you are Dallas and even if that weren't so, I should think I've earned your confidence enough for a man to man discussion about this."

"I know Cas, you have and I'm sorry it fell to the side of the other fifty percent, not to mention, I was so darn scared of what you'd say," he sighs. "That I'd have to face that look I, I thought maybe if I just said yes—"

"That'd I'd just let it go in favor of a happy time?"

"I know, it was dumb. That's not you at all, but I was so caught up in the moment, it was so romantic and I," he pauses to wipe at his eye. "I wanted that moment."

Dallas is the most level headed, considerate boy, but love has always confounded him. It's the wild Colt in him and it's beautiful—the way he's such a hopeless romantic—but he's been known to fumble on occasion, with matters of the heart. I think we are all subject to this folly; no one, no matter how composed, is impervious to love. Love rules us all.

There's an edge of a smile in his eyes and it's playing on his lips, as he thinks of that moment—he does love Axl and that's something.

"What did he do?"

Dallas releases the smile he's been holding back. "Took me to an indoor ice rink he was able to convince the owner to allow him access to after hours and proposed to me on the ice. It was after one of my concerts too and those are always good nights."

Damn. That is Dallas's version of romantic. I don't know if my brother's that romantic.

"That does sound like a very good night," I agree. "How do you plan to tell Christian about this?"

It's a fair question and it will give Dallas away whether he wants to be given away or now. The soft lines of his youthful complexion (the Colts have great genes) tense into mild, frustrated anger. "I'm going to do him the courtesy of telling him in person, pretty quick once we get to Texas."

I nod. "What makes you, so sure you don't want to at least talk this over with him, before going through with it?"

"I was going to brother Cas, but the more I thought on it, I realized it would end up being an ultimatum and I don't want to do that to him, nor do I want that for me. I was fine to wait on him, long as it took, but he's made clear recently, that he never wants to get married, he says it's because he likes our open relationship, but I know it's because he never wants to ask your father for permission."

"Oh for all the ridiculous, Dallas, we need to deal with this the way we should have done from the get go, but I let you, Dean and puppy eyes McGee manipulate me. Christian needs to come clean."

"As if you'd let them, or me manipulate you and for this long. You haven't done anything, because you agree at least to some extent. It needs to come from Christian, he has to want to tell your father who he really is and be prepared to deal with any recoil."

"I'm pretty sure Father's known this whole time."

"Me too and even he won't call Chris out on it. I think he agrees that Chris has to be the one too."

"Yeah, I know. It's just, frustrating."

"Not to be rude Cas, but yeah, tell me about it—you think you're frustrated? Try twenty-five years of on and off and toe-bashing heartbreak. I'm a sucker for him, I guess."

"I thought he was more comfortable with having a head of house? I thought you two had something sorted out?"

"I thought so too. It's been working for him and I for years, so well I thought…well I thought we were close, but then last October he started actin' funny. I knew he was irked by my decision to go on tour and I told him if we had something more solid than what we had currently, we could make those kind of decisions together, in that we'd talk about my going on tour rather than me phoning him up and just telling him. He said, 'naw, you're right Dals, if I don't wanna settle down, you shouldn't have to run things by me. I only choose to do so with you because of our deal.' He still sounded pissed though, so I said (since he can't take a dang hint) 'we could make it more, we could get married.' Then he flipped out. I had a mind to fly out just to tan his hide, but since it was to do with the forbidden topic, I made sure everything was smoothed over and left it. He called a lot less after that, for a while, but I called him as much as I could with travelling and all. If you looked at us from afar, we'd look the same talking on the phone as we always have done, but it wasn't the same. He was distant. I tried to bring up the discussion we'd had a few times, but each time, it caused a fight, so I learned to avoid it, planning on bringing it up next we saw each other. I was hoping to get a chance to see him in person in January, but they moved my tour schedule up, so it never happened. Eventually, he started calling me again, just as before, almost like nothing happened, but he kept dropping hints about how not into marriage he is, until I recently made a rule that the next time he says the word, he's going straight over my knee first chance we get alone."

Calm, even tempered Dallas is panting at the end of that speech. It worked him up.

"Because he'd already succeeded in making his stance perfectly clear, I don't need it shoved in my face over and over and it wasn't getting us anywhere. I'd already been seeing Axl again by this point and he had been thinking about settling down. As you know, we've been off in on too, in a similar manner to Chis and I. I always knew it would be one, or the other, I just hoped…well, I'm not going back and forth on it anymore. I choose Axl, ah, if you approve that is?" he says uncertainly.

I sigh heavily and shake my head crossing my arms in the way Dean always calls my 'I sincerely disapprove' look. "I don't like what I've heard Dallas. You have not properly resolved this between you and Christian."

"I tried Cas. It led to fighting."

"You are the top Dallas, you let him walk all over you."

"I know, but I…unless we take this further, I don't feel right being any firmer than I was."

"Sorry, not good enough."


"I consider you one of my own Dallas, I want your happiness, if it's not with my brother, that's fine, I will give you my blessing to marry Axl, but not before you resolve this with Christian. I'm aware that we have no formal agreement between us, you are not required to bring Axl to Sunday dinners now that you've moved out, though you are certainly welcome to if this moves forward and you are not obligated to obey me, but I wanted you to know my opinion on the matter. If you go ahead with this, you will be doing so without my support."

I hate being the one to take the wind out of Dallas's sails, but that's what happens. He slinks down in the leather chair looking a bit trampled. I don't want him to feel badly, but I don't think he's able to look at this situation subjectively enough; I have to be honest with him. "I'm not going to marry him without your blessing Cas. I know you never say something lightly and that you care about me. I can't pretend to be happy about it, but I'll resolve things with Christian before moving forward. I'll discuss it with you again after I talk with Chris."

"I'm sorry, Dallas. I really am and I'm here to help."

"I know Cas. Are we done here? May I go lick my wounds?"

"Almost," I smirk at him, but I like to think I'm using a soft smirk—Dean says there's no such thing. "It's been an awfully long time with you being in a semi-Winchester-style relationship. Are you still claiming not to have any desire to live this way?"

"Aw Cas, please. Did I do something to tick you off?"

"Next time you decide to get married, ask, then I'll go a lot easier on you. Answer the question, please."

When we began this conversation, Dallas's presence was filling up the room, now he's trying to slink further into the chair and make himself smaller. He huffs. "I like what Chris and I have if that's what you mean."

"I want you to think about that too, we'll talk about it when I see you in Texas."

"Yes, sir."

"Now you may go."

His body relaxes again, mostly resuming the carefree posture we know him for, but like he's just been on a taxing run. "Jesus Cas, if that's what I got, I feel sorry for anyone who thinks they're going to marry Dean." He stands up and straightens his shirt.

"Who says I'm even going to entertain the idea with someone? Especially that angel. He's dating my son and that's fine, I'm even happy to have him to Sunday dinners and help him form a healthy, solid Winchester style relationship with Dean, for Dean's sake, but if he thinks I'll just hand Dean over to him willingly…well, he can try."

Dallas smiles at me, not believing a word I'm saying, thinking I'm joking. "Sure, brother Cas. As if you don't give Dean everything he wants."

"Why does everyone think I spoil him? That boy ends up over someone's knee more times than I have fingers and toes to count these days, and he hasn't seen the mid of a night in weeks."

"And even with all that, I still say he's spoiled. It's the good kind though. I'd spoil him too if he were my son."

"He's just as much yours, Dallas."

"Really? You mean that?"

"I do. You helped us raise him; he's got lots of you in him. C'mere, Dal," I say laying on my old accent thick and open my arms for him wrapping him in a strong hug.

"You'll get to do this in your own time, I won't interfere and I'm not going to allow Dean and Sam, who are likely plotting some foolhardy attempt as we speak, to interfere either," I tell him as we part.

He nods.

"In fact, send them in next. I might as well deal with this all at once."


"Y'all can put the wine away," Uncle Dal says when he hits the kitchen. "Celebration's off."

Uncle Dal looks different than he did before he left with Papa. Sure he's sullen, but he also looks relieved. "But Papa said—"

"Papa said, no one's getting married yet," he winks. "We can still drink wine with dinner if you like, half-pint, but y'all have to go talk to your father first."

"What? What did we do?" I'm freaking appalled.

Michael smirks at me.

"I think it's best you go with them, Michael," Uncle Dal says.

"What? What did I do?" Now he's appalled and I get to smirk at him.

"Cas knows as well as I do that they'll con you intah helping them with whatever asinine plan they have for getting Chris and I together," Uncle Dal explains to Michael.

"What plan?" Daddy says.

"That one playing on your face," Dal laughs and pushes his brother playfully.

"All right, all right. C'mon Dean Bean, let's go see Papa and get wrung out. You'd better come too Michael, I'm sure if he knew you were here he'd of mentioned it to Dal."

"This isn't fair," Michael grumbles. "Why should I get lumped into a category with the two of you? He's already got enough reason to hate me."

Uncle Dal laughs at that. "All I know is I don't envy you Michael. Thank God you're an Archangel going up against the likes of Castiel."

"Tell me about it. A lot of good that does me. I often have to remind myself he's only human. Papa Winchester would have made one terrifying angel," Michael says seriously; we all laugh at him.

"Well c'mon, we better head to his office before the angel Castiel comes looking for us," Daddy says.


He has the cane on his fucking desk. And not the Michael fun spanking type lap cane, a legit cane made of bamboo—I had an unfortunate meeting with the thing not all that long ago.

Fuck do I hate that thing. Papa was only mildly surprised to see Michael with us and moved his extra leather chair in front of his desk for him. The damn chairs always feel so cold when you're sitting, waiting to get told off. Daddy looks fine, used to this kind of thing. Michael is clearly pissed off, using anger to hide his terror and I'm somewhere in the middle of the two. I'm not afraid of Papa per se, I know he'd never hurt me beyond discipline, but fuck, when his eyes are on you like that, Michael's right: Papa would have made a damn fine angel. Makes me squirm in my chair on my still slightly sore ass, the spanking I just got from Daddy, still making its presence known.

"You see this?" Papa says.

We all nod.

"This will be used on all of your bare bottoms if I find you have anything to do with plotting to get Christian and Dallas together."

"How many?" Daddy asks defiantly.

"Careful Baby, I don't like that tone. To answer your question, six for Dean," he says looking at me first, I wince. That's not bad, but I know it fucking stings and leaves a nice reminder for a day or two. "Twenty for you," he tells Daddy. I'm guessing that's just outside of his comfort zone, but you'd never know, Daddy doesn't even flinch. And if I hadn't just received a reminder of how strong Daddy really is, that would be my reminder. "I know I can't stop a Colt once they have mind to do something, but it is my duty to notify the members of my house what I expect from them and the consequences for disobeying."

"Yes, sir," Daddy and I both say at the same time.

"As for you Michael, if I find out you had anything to do with this, I'm going to request that you take fifty with this. While you may reject that punishment without consequence, you won't see, or talk to Dean for seven days, am I clear?"

"Clear, sir and I will acquiesce to any punishment you request of me. But why do I get, so many more than everyone else? I assure you, my vessel feels pain. I'll feel them like anyone else would especially considering my weakened state." His mouth twists distastefully, at pointing out his weakened state.

"You'll also heal within the hour I wager, which factored into my decision, but the primary reason is that I expect more from you. You are a top, you have greater responsibility. Fuck it up and I will make sure the consequences are severe. Is that a reasonable enough explanation for you?"

Michael knows it's the only one he's going to get, the angel can just barely look Papa in the eye, but not because he's cowed, because he's fucking pissed and he doesn't want Papa to see. "Yes, sir."

Of course, this whole time, I'm wondering if we should come clean about the Uncle Chris call, but I can't look at Daddy, or Papa will figure us out. I did say I was in, no matter the cost to my behind and I meant it. Six cane strokes aren't fun, but they're manageable. This is Uncle Chris and Uncle Dally we're talking about, I'm willing to do whatever it takes and I know Daddy is too, but is Michael?

I don't see him worrying about a few cane strokes, but not seeing me for seven days and no contact will drive the angel mad with worry over me.

"I feel I have dealt with the matter sufficiently. Of course Dallas and Christian may want to discuss the topic with you and that is fine, but no match making. Am I perfectly clear?"

"Yes, sir," the three of us say in unison.

"Is there anything, anyone wants to get off their chest before this matter is closed?"

This would be a great time to tell him about Uncle Christian, but no one says anything.

"Okay then. Shall we proceed to dinner?"

I know Papa hates doing this on the night before he has to leave. He's confided in me that it's not his role to be liked all the time, he's required to do what's best for the family even if it makes him a 'bad guy.' It's not always easy to be head of house and I see that more as I get older—I sure as fuck don't want that kind of responsibility, I don't know how Papa does it.


After dinner Dally needs to head out and I decide to give Papa and Daddy time alone, since Papa leaves in the morning, I'm so generous…not to mention this means I'll get some alone time with Michael. We haven't had much time to just breathe together in awhile, I haven't even had time to revel in the fact that he's finally coming to Texas with us. I get one full month of Michael.

The angel can't stop staring at my bruised face. I think he's still a little pissed at me, but that's fading, his lips are twisted into a irritated pout, his eyes look like they're trying to solve a riddle. "Are you trying to solve world hunger, or world peace?" I ask.

"Both," he says. "If I ever find out who did this to you, I'm going to hungrily take a piece out of them." He reaches out to ghost his fingers along the purpled flesh.

We're on the couch in the living room. Daddy and Papa left for their bedroom with a goodnight and a don't stay up too late (it's only seven-thirty, gee, I wonder what they left to do. Ew). I still have a whole bunch of lines to get done and I should tell Michael to leave, but I can't. "Sooo, am I still confined to the house?"

His whole face clouds over. "Are you going to tell me who did this?"

"Are you going to unleash holy angel rage on them?"

"Yes," he says.

"Then, no."

"Then, yes," he says. "It's not a punishment," he reminds me. "It's to keep you safe, I'm concerned for you. What if they come after you outside of school hours?"

"It wasn't like that Michael."

"I don't know what it was like, you won't tell me."

"Are we really going to go round and round like this all night? If so, I'm going to work on my lines. This is stupid Michael."

"I will attempt to put it aside for the moment. I need…I want to be with you. Just for a little longer, then I should let you finish the assignment your father gave you."

"My parents are probably fucking, you wanna sneak up to my bedroom and do the same?"

"I'm not suicidal, Dean." But before I can pout over him saying 'no,' he adds, "let's go out to the tree house."

Once we're there, he practically attacks me, lips bruising mine, but that's as rough as we get. I don't even know that I can call the rest of what we do fucking. Technically, yeah, that's what it is, but it's wrapped in softness and worship. I feel like he's trying to tell me something he can't say with words.

Once we're both naked, he slips an arm under my back, sweeps me to the floor of the tree house and spends more time kissing me as our naked bodies press together. I appreciate his long, lean form above me, I love when Michael covers me like this, our legs tangled together, cocks resting beside one another; I love feeling him, being consumed by him. He pulls away suddenly. "I know it's not your favorite, baby, but will you fuck me? I want you inside me tonight, Dean."

Michael doesn't ask for this often. I'm a happy bottom and he's a happy top, it's how we like things. "Of course, I can do that for you, Sugar."

I want to make this good for him. I don't top, because I'd rather be devoured by Michael, it's literally just preference, but I can 'do the whole topping thing' and do it well. I'm a natural at sex, call it a god given talent if you like. Maybe it has something to do with my old life, I'm not sure. I do know, I'm going to rock Michael's world.

I flip him over, which I know is him letting me flip him over. Just because he's an angel low on juice, doesn't mean I could out power him, ever. Not in terms of physical strength anyway.

He's already smiling up at me and, as we all know, Michael seldom smiles and so easily, especially when he still has to look at my face the way it is. "You look different right now," he says.

"Oh I am different, Sugar." I feel different.

I take some time to suck at his nipples. Lathing my tongue over the each nub and sucking to make sure they both poke out proud. Michael likes that and already I've got him making sounds, his body tensing in anticipation. His hand through my hair is gentle, not dominating at all, like it usually is. It's simply him wanting to touch me, be connected with me in as many ways as possible.

I kinda want to get this show on the road. I had huge plans of teasing him 'till kingdom come, but fuck, now that I'm into this, I want to fill him, ram my cock into him hard and watch him smile some more like that, 'till he comes apart.

But now I'm like a kid in a candy store, I want to get to the main event, so I pull out the lube from one of my many compartments here in the tree house (thank fuck my parents never come up here) and slick up his hole. He plants his feet on the floor and spreads wide for me and I slip a finger inside. "I'll bet you've never had anyone, but me fuck you in here, have you, baby?" I don't know where the words come from, they're so not me, not in this life anyway, I can only assume it's old Dean.

I don't expect his answer. "No one, Dean. Just you."

That jolts me back to reality. "What? F-for serious?"

Irritated Michael is back, he grabs me by the wrist and pulls me on top of him. I have to pull my finger out of his ass quickly. My body slams down on his and he kisses me fiercely. "Stick your cock in me Dean, now."

"Don’t you dare distract me. Answer the damn question, Michael."

"I will, but I want your cock in me first."

"But you're not…I haven't opened you completely. Won't I damage your vessel?"

"Just go slow. Angel, remember? I'll be fine. I need you in me Dean."

I nod and let the tip of my cock poke at his hole, I take my time letting my dick feed into his smooth channel and when I hit bottom I wait. "Give me just a second," he says and pulls me into another kiss, this one sweet-tempered. "Mmmm," he hums. "You taste, so good Dean."

"I'm in you, stop stalling." I look him square in the eye, trying on my best imitation of Papa.

"For serious," he drawls, still irritated like he regrets admitting to that in the heat of the moment. Before I can get too happy about that, he tries to ruin the moment by adding, "you know this is not my favorite position," trying to insinuate it's no big deal.

I'm not letting him get off that easy. I pull out slow, pushing back in just as slow. "Fuck that Michael. Then why ask for this at all? And why only ask me?"

"Shh. Keep it down. I would never have told you that if I knew you were planning on broadcasting it to the entire neighborhood."

There's nobody around…unless there is. I don't say as much though. He'll just deny it anyway, but I am going to keep that in mind. I pick up the pace and talk quieter, but use the information to my advantage. "You wanted me to fuck you like this, sugar?" I give a particularly hard thrust so he'll stop thinking.

"Ugh…yeah, baby. I need you."

That gains my sympathy. It's more the way he says he needs me, like he can't breathe without me, fuck. I wish there was something I could do to ease his worry for me. I've done all I can as is, other than tell him who did it and I can't do that. If only he'd stop being fucking stubborn and let it go, but I believe him when he says he literally can't. It's times like these I'm reminded that Michael isn't human; he's wired differently. I wonder how long he cleaned the loft over this?

Michael's staring up at me and it's fucking adoringly, I almost can't handle the intensity of his gaze and the love in his eyes. It's like looking directly at the sun. Fuck it. I don't even care if he doesn't say it back…much. "I love you, Michael," I tell him as I fill him.

It makes his smile a contented smile that I rarely see on the obsessive, compulsive angel and it's worth whatever that's going to cost. He pounces, renewed, and flips us over in a smooth motion. My cock is still filling him, but now he's on top, where I like him. He pounds down hard as I push up. There's no more talking, just us, joined, kissing, moaning, sweating. Trying to get as close to each other as we can possibly be.

It seems to take forever for us to reach orgasm, a lot longer than usual anyway, we drag it out, so we can be joined for as long as possible, while we kiss and nuzzle and just enjoy each other.

After and when we're both clean, we lay together. Michael's got me pulled to his naked chest and I've got a leg wrapped around his naked torso.

"Thanks, Duck. I…I needed that, I feel better."

"It's about fucking time. When's the last time we fucked? However long ago it was, it's too long."

"I don't think you understand what it means for an angel to bond with a human. I try to show you, tell you, but, I don't know I'm doing a good enough job, Dean I…this thing at your school is eating at me. I don't want to be so protective of you, I know humans do not like that, but I can't even help it—if only you knew what I wanted to do with you. I feel like that, as you would say, 'douchey' vampire from Twilight."

I think I know what he wants to do with me, lock me in a room full of bubble wrap where nothing and no one can get me. "I don't think vampire douche would have let that chick practically have a second boyfriend."

"Don't remind me. Will we be seeing Bradley this summer?"



I laugh. "As much as it pains me to leave rather than have more sex, I'd better go work on those lines. My parents are trying a new thing where they're giving me trust I haven't earned then making me earn it. I don't want to fuck it up. It's going to take me forever to finish those fucking lines," I groan.

"I don't feel sorry for you."

"Not even a little bit?" I pout.

"Okay, maybe a little bit," he says kissing my forehead. "Behave yourself and you won't be in trouble all the time."

"It's just so hard. Like this whole Dally thing. Does Papa really expect us to sit idly by and do nothing?"

"I doubt it. I think he fully expects something hence the Defcon five level warning."

"Aren't you going to issue your own warning?"

He's quiet for a moment. "No. If one's not enough, then I can't stop you."

"C'mon, where's your old college try? And that's not even true Michael, you can stop me if you really want to, unless…you don't want to! You want them together as much as we do," I accuse.

"You know I like Dallas, and your uncle Chris is a Winchester, so of course I like him. The only Winchester I don't seem to get along with is your father. Their relationship isn't my business at all, so I won't help, but I won't stop you."

"Papa's still going to consider not stopping us, helping." I'll get Michael to help us eventually. "You might as well just help."

"I don't think so, duck. I'm staying out of this time bomb."

I should leave now, go do my lines, but I don't want to, it's not often Michael and I get time like this. "I don't want to leave," he says echoing my thoughts.

"Me neither."

He sits up abruptly, reaching for my shirt then throwing it at me, he grabs his pants. "Well, c'mon then," he says.

"Where we going?"

"Winchester library. I want to stay with you. Besides, soon as I leave you'll start texting Hannah, or Football head. Either way you won't make a dent in your assignment and if you think I'm going to allow that, you're sadly mistaken."

I start dressing fucking excited he's staying. "Brad doesn't let me goof off either you know. It's why I got any lines done at all."

"That, so? Least ol' pigskin is good for something."

Chapter Text

It's Friday evening and we're all packed to go; I'm lugging my suitcases to the door, so we can just leave in the morning when my phone rings. It's Papa, probably phoning to check I finished my lines, which I did by the way and with time to spare (I had Michael and Brad to keep me working on an organized schedule). I answer. "Father?"

"Hey Angel," he says.

So not the lines, he would have been far more formal, hence the 'Father.' He's either worried about me or wants to tell me something special. I'm betting on explanation A.

"Daddy told me you got all your lines done, thank you. You all ready for tomorrow?"

"Yeah, Papa," I say cradling the phone in between my ear and shoulder and dragging my second suitcase to the front door. "I'm excited to see everyone." And I am. I'm also fucking excited Michael's coming.

"That's good. I miss you and Daddy already, can't wait to meet up with you."

"There something you want to talk to me about Papa?"

"I can't phone my son just because I miss him?"

"You can, but it's not your M.O."

"Okay, I'm caught. I'm worried about you, Kiddo. You sure you want to fly commercially? I can arrange to have the private jet ready for Sunday."

"I'm good Papa. I swear. Not feeling a lick of fear. Besides, I'll have Michael beside me."

"Don't remind me."

I laugh. "You bought him the ticket, with a seat right next to me. Thanks again for that by the way. I'm really grateful."

"You're welcome, kiddo. Everyone's right, I do spoil you. Especially if I'm buying tickets for snarky angels."

"Oh c'mon Papa, Michael's been trying real hard. I thought you two were really bonding?"

"Let's just say he's not on my Christmas card list."

"Papa, be nice."

"I am being nice, believe me." I do. "Okay, if you say you're good, I trust you, Kiddo."

"Oh yeah, I'm solid as a rock. You don't gotta worry about me Papa."

"I'll always worry about you. How's your face?"

"All better, but Michael claims he can still see traces, I think he's imagining things."

"Good. Is Uncle Dal staying over?"

"Yep, we're having a Colt pajama party, but uh, well that is, we're missing one. What are the chances you'd let Michael stay over tonight too? I mean, we're basically having a month long sleepover starting tomorrow night and that's awfully early for him to have to get up to come over…"

"I'd say your chances look grim."

"But, Papa—"

"No, Dean. He can come over to participate in whatever insane Colt ritual y'all have planned then he goes back to his loft until the morning."

"Yes, sir," I say unhappily. I really thought he might say yes, considering.

Papa chuckles. "You've got the whole month. All right, well if you're sure you're going to be okay, I'll leave it. I just…have a bad feeling, I sensed you might be…well that doesn't matter now. Have a safe flight son. Love you."


It's early. We're talking, the worms aren't even up early. I rub my eyes, staring at the table until a coffee mug comes into view. "Drink that Dean Bean," Daddy says; he's the early bird on speed. How the fuck is Daddy always so fucking chipper, even at this time of the morning? I'm more like Papa in this way, I guess.

I'm still in pajamas and my hair's not done, we're always more casual when Papa's not around, but I should get dressed. I take a sip, expecting delicious coffee, too asleep to have missed the lack of scent, but it's not coffee. It's fucking ginger lemon tea. "Blech. Daddy, what the fudge?"

"I'll have coffee ready in a to go mug for you. My mama's sixth sense is kicking in, you're fighting a bug. I noticed last night."

"So you admit to being a mama hen," I say drinking the tea. It actually tastes pretty good, but is fucking disappointing when you're expecting coffee. That was just cruel.

"I've never denied it," he says, but he has too. Instead of answering, I sulkily drink my tea, while I find the scent of the real coffee being brewed and let it fill my nostrils.

Michael slides the glass door to the kitchen open and joins me at the table, looking neat and put together. Wait. Something's different. He's smiling.

"Hey gorgeous," he says tousling my already tousled hair.

"Hey Michael. Daddy's being crazy again—save me."

Michael looks at Daddy, the question of 'what the hell is he whining about now?' in his eyes. "Hey Michael," Daddy says. "Don't mind him, he's cranky. He's fighting a bug."

I scowl at Daddy.

"Daddy Winchester," he nods hello. Wow. He's so casual this morning.

Daddy beams. "You hungry, Michael?" Daddy asks, both of them completely ignoring my griping.

Michael doesn't always eat, but Daddy still asks him. "No thank you. Maybe just some of that coffee stuff you humans salivate over."

"Coming right up."

Oh sure, he gets some.

"Are we waiting on Dallas?" Michael asks.

"I heard him in the shower," I say staring at him; instantly mesmerized. I've always been mesmerized by Michael.

"Which you need to do too, so hop to it. Shower, dress and meet us by the door in twenty, Sur."

Daddy hasn't even landed on Colt soil and he's already entered Captain of the ship mode, and I know not to mess—all Colts know not to mess with Sam Colt.

"Yeah, yeah," I say swallowing the last bit of my tea, aka, Colt remedy and hopping to it.

"Excuse me?" his eyebrow is arched high.

"Yes, sir."


Everything's fine. Really. Everything. Michael and I are sitting together in first class, Daddy and Dal are three rows back from us and I'm sipping on a soda, as in bubbly water. You think Daddy would let me drink anything with glucose-fructose in it? You're crazy. Especially when he thinks I'm 'fighting a bug.' There's a strict, low sugar policy in effect. He hasn't officially said it, but he doesn't need to. I've been around Daddy long enough to know what the deal is.

"I'm going to ask you, and I expect you to be honest with me duck, how are you doing?"

"I'm fine, Michael. Jesus Christ," I whisper, so Daddy can't hear me taking the lord's name in vain.

He looks me over carefully with squinty eyes. "Hmm. I think you truly believe that."

"I believe it, because I'm fine Michael." At least he's calmed down about my face. The bruises are gone and he's laid off about tracking down the 'assailant' (his word, not mine).

"We'll see about that."

Not long after Michael ends his interrogation, Daddy's there. "Here baby, boy," he says handing me a blanket, a blue blanket (is that my freaking baby blanket? Yes, yes it is) and an iPod touch with headphones. He's also got a little zip-lock baggy with something inside…oh no…are those what I think they are?

I take the items, so I don't cause a fuss, but of course Michael has to play twenty questions. "What's all this?"

"Dean can't fly without that blanket."

My cheeks heat. "What? Daddy, yes I can."

"Name a year you flew without it."

"Last year."

"Nope, you had it last year. I would know." I'm about to argue that, but then I remember…crying…into something. Yeah, I cried, okay? silently and into Daddy's chest. "Well I don't need it this year," I say shoving it back at him. He takes it, but he looks worried.

"What's on that?" Michael asks pointing to the iPod touch.

"Metallica," Daddy answers.

"Don't need that either, I have Metallica on my phone. If I really need Metallica, which I won't, I'll put some on from mine." I shove that back at him too and he looks annoyed. Usually I let him take care of me, I know he likes to, but, I feel this strange desire to show Michael I'm an adult. As if he doesn't know what I'm like, yeah I know, but I feel grown up having my not-boyfriend on a family trip with me. I don't want baby blankets and coddling right now, it's interfering with the grown up vibe.

"But this one's all set up, sweetheart, you won't have to fuss around when you need it."

"I'm okay, Daddy really."

"Well you're keeping those, Dean Winchester and I expect you to take one every hour, on the hour, am I understood?"

"Yes, Daddy," I say.

"What are those?" Michael asks peering into the bag.

"That is a Colt family recipe," Daddy says.

"They're pre-cough-cough-drops. Daddy thinks I'm fighting a bug, apparently they're preventative. They taste like ass," I say accidentally.

"I've had about enough sass out of you Dean Winchester," Daddy warns and I know to cool it.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I'll make sure and take them." Now I can't sneak kisses to Michael because my mouth will taste like ass.

"Your daddy is concerned for your well being and why was I not notified about this bug?" Of course Michael the brown noser, takes Daddy's side.

"Because I'm not fighting a bug. Thanks a lot Daddy, now he's all riled up." I cross my arms and pout.

"Every hour, Dean," are his parting words for me. Great. He's pissed at me and worried about me—not a good combo.

I shove one in my mouth as he walks away, so I don't have to hear it from Michael; I don't want to kiss him anyway, he always takes Daddy's side. He laughs at me. "What's your problem? Normally you're happy to indulge him."

"C'mere," I say pulling him to me, kissing him roughly and letting the taste infest his mouth. "That's what."

"That's hideous."

"Yeah, and I was hoping our inflight entertainment would include us making out."

"Believe me, Winchester, I have no plans to make out with you during this flight, or any flights which have one of your fathers and an uncle three rows back."

"Really? C'mon. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I've never had a sense of adventure, not when it comes to you. I think you hurt your daddy's feelings. You should apologize."

"Yeah, I'll apologize later." I do feel kinda shitty about that. "So what is going to be our inflight entertainment, if we're not making out?"

Michael's staring at me funny. "Whatever you want Duck."

Whatever I want? Why's he so fucking agreeable today.

Dal comes over next, he's got the iPod touch in hand and I recognize those eyes, they're his Top eyes. "Uh, Michael, can I tap you out a minute cowboy?"

Michael knows what's coming and smirks at me, like I'm the little brother in trouble. Ass.

Michael gets up. "I'll go soothe Daddy Winchester." Suck up to him some more he means—he's always sucking up to Daddy.

Uncle Dal sinks into Michael's chair, I cut him off at the pass. "I'm going to apologize Uncle Dal and I'll take that." I flick my eyes toward the iTouch.

"He's kind of flipping out Dean—he's worried about you. He voted for different seating arrangements, you and him, me and Michael. Your papa knew you'd want to sit with Michael, so he okayed it." Huh. Maybe Papa does spoil me. All those spankings must be a rouse.

"I was inconsiderate Uncle Dal, I'm sorry, really."

He smiles and hands me the iPod touch. "What's really going on?"

Damn, see? Top eyes. Just because they're Uncle Dally's softer, much less intense than Papa's, doesn't mean I can't see them a mile away. "I wanna be a big boy," I say cheekily.


"It's true. I just, this is a pretty grown up thing, having my…angel along on the big family trip." I don't add that it feels like I'm bringing my serious boyfriend to meet the family, because he's not my boyfriend and he's already met a lot of the family. "And it was kinda embarrassing, Daddy bringing me my baby blanket, Uncle Dal."

Uncle Dal chuckles. "You don't have to impress Michael, half pint. You've already won him."

"Not really," I mutter, but don't mean to say it. I've been doing a good job of not thinking about that lately, but it pops up every once in awhile. "Thanks Uncle Dal."

He's looking me over now with his own Uncle Dally version of Papa's concerned look. Of course he looks more like Daddy than he does Papa, but that's just in physical looks; there's a harder edge to his eyes than Daddy has when he's worried about me and reminds me more of Papa. "Okay, half pint. You know I'm around if you need me." The, but he's got his eyes on me too is implied, yeah I know.

He moves back to his seat and Michael returns, smirk firmly in place. "I think you're in trouble."

"I know. I'll fix it. Daddy can't resist my Dean eyes—'specially if he thinks I'm coming down with a bug."

I pull out my earphones, ready to watch a movie, for after all the inflight announcements. If Michael doesn't want to watch, so be it. When's this damn plane going to take off?


It's stupid. So fucking stupid, but it starts sometime between with the attendant is explaining the bit about putting you own mask on before assisting others and the procedure for emergency exiting, when I start to feel it. It's an anxious jittery feeling, but not the good kind like after a cup of coffee, the someone's about to stab you from behind and you're not prepared type jitters. Michael notices right away.

"Those knuckles are looking awfully, white Duck," he says in my ear.

"I, I'm fine," I say exhaling slowly. Jesus Christ. What the hell happened to old Dean that made him so scared of planes? Enough it carried through to his next life in me? Not even Bobby knows the answer. I wonder if John Winchester knew? Something tells me he didn't know. It's a strange sort of knowing, because I have no recollection of events of that particular topic, I just know he didn't. I do remember John though. Every now and again. Dean, old Dean, uh, me I guess had a hard life with the guy, but he was always there for him. As it is with many of the bits I remember from my other life, I can recall feelings better than I can actual details. Old Dean loved him, respected him, but also feared him just a little bit. I do remember his face. I have one clear memory of him smiling at me proudly and every so often, I miss the oval faced man.

I can't even fucking believe this. I was fine five minutes ago, but a full blown, internal panic attack has been ignited from within; breathing is becoming difficult. I close my eyes and start the breathing exercises Daddy always has me do as the jets whir on high, preparing for take off.


"God dammit, Michael!"

I expect him to tell me off for snapping at him like that, in the least scold me for not telling him the second I began feeling nervous, but instead, I feel his hand unwrap mine from the arm of the seat (my eyes are still closed) and his fingers interlace with mine. "It's okay, Baby. I got you. Nothing's going to happen to you while I'm around."

That's not enough though. I'm not fine. I'm suddenly really, really not fine. I squeeze Michael's hand hard; I'm lucky he's an angel and I can't squeeze too hard. "Oh yeah? What are you going to do when this plane crashes to the ground?" I hiss at him. Eyes still closed.

"It's not going to crash."

"Oh my god, oh my god, are we moving? We're moving, fuck. I don't like this Michael. This was a bad, bad, stupid idea." The plane's going, it's heading down the runway.

"Breathe, Baby. C'mon. You're okay."

"This is bullshit," I say opening my eyes, I'm getting off of this thing. I start undoing my seatbelt.

"You can't just get off the plane, we're moving, Dean." He stops me from undoing my seatbelt and holds me in place, lifting the seat's arm out of the way and wrapping his arm around me. "How bout some Metallica? Sandman?"

"Yeah," I swallow. Did it get hotter in here? My throat's suddenly dry. "Try that."

Michael hums Sandman in my ear the entire time the plane is taking off, his arm wrapped around me; I try and breathe. He tries to card his hand through my hair, which normally I love, but it's not right and it irritates me. None of the usual stuff is working. Nothing's working. Why the fuck isn't it working? I sit up. "You okay now?" he asks.

"Do I fucking look okay to you?" We're in the air now, I don't feel any better. I feel worse.

"How about more water?" He's still being patient with me, knowing I'm on the verge of a breakdown.

"No." The plane shifts and jumps a little. "C'mon, that can't be normal."

"It's just a little turbulence, duckling," Michael says gently.

"Michael, this plane is going to crash, okay? So quit treating me like I'm friggin' four."

"You need to calm down," he says evenly. "Or Daddy Winchester's going to be back here."

"Well I'm sorry, I can't."

"You have to calm down, Dean," Michael says in that walking on eggshells tone again and I'm so agitated, I'm a bit pissed.

"Stow, the touchy-feely, self help yoga crap—"

"Okay, enough." He undoes my seatbelt and yanks me up.

"What the hell are you doing Michael?"

"This is a job for one person," he says dragging me down the isle. We get the stink eye from the flight attendant, but she doesn't say anything, it is first class after all.

Uncle Dal's not surprised and starts unbuckling his belt, preparing to room with his new bunkmate (Michael) and soon as his seat is vacated, I dive into the seat next to Daddy, which is closer to the window, which Daddy reaches over to close of course.

"Just a sec sweetheart, lemme move this too." I let him move the arm of the chair out of the way, then wrap myself around Daddy's torso—nope, don't give a shit who's looking.

"I'll come back, in a bit," Michael says over my head to Daddy handing him something, the iPod touch, I think.

Daddy starts running his monstrous hand through my hair and it's just the right way and it starts to take away the edge of my panic. "Oh Dean Bean, you scared?"

"Yeah, and I don't fudging know why, this is stupid." Great, now I'm fucking crying.

"No one knows why, baby boy." He squeezes me to him and kisses my head. "Don't worry about why."

"I'm sorry I snubbed you and all the stuff you tried to give me. You were right and Michael was doing everything wrong and…crap make it go away, Daddy."

Daddy laughs still carding a hand through my hair. This is almost perfect, but I still need one thing. "Daddy, do you have my…?"

"Right here, sweetheart," he says pulling out the soft, blue blanket. It's worn, but it's still retained some of its baby smell, like it's part of the blanket, I don't know how it's never gone away.

I cuddle toward it, letting its softness brush my nose, snuggle further into Daddy, close my eyes and just breathe in and out…in and out. When Daddy starts humming Nothing Else Matters, it's perfect and I sigh into my little Daddy fortress finally starting to calm down.

I guess some things are just Daddy's realm of expertise. With everything the way it's supposed to be, my body relaxes and I'm able to fall asleep.


When I go check on him, he's curled up with his baby blanket, Mr. Blankenstien I believe it was called, and fast asleep. "How did you do that?"

Sam's smiling wide. He loves getting to snuggle with his boy, which Dean does often, too often for a seventeen-year-old anyway, but not as much as he did when he was little—Sam misses it. "I didn't do a thing, just fell asleep."

That's crap and he knows it. Sam has a magical effect on Dean. "Guess I'm not needed." I go back to sitting with the broken cowboy. Yes, broken. I've never seen Dallas so distraught in my life. He's spinning the ring around his finger, over and over and over.

"Dean's out cold," I tell him when I return.

He gives a perfunctory Dallas chuckle, but it's not his usual sunny laugh. He needs Sam too (I'm certainly not equipped to give relationship advice), but I do feel bad for him; I've always liked Dallas.

"Figures. That boy hasn't spent one plane ride without at least some of it asleep beside Daddy."

He's still spinning the ring. The laid back Cowboy's nervous. I really don't want to ask him, but I feel obligated. Dallas has always been good to me, has even taken my side on occasion with Papa Winchester. Fuck. All right. "There are easier ways to remove your finger."

"Sorry, Michael, I'm just chewing. Brother Cas said a lot and well, there just ain't much else to do on a plane, but think on it. I can go get my book."

"No, no need to do that," I say trying for concern. Not that I don't care about Dallas, but all my energy goes into worrying about Dean, there's not room for much else. "Want to use me as a sounding board?"

"Really? You'd do that for me Michael? I know your humans policy is pretty much Dean only."

"That's not true. I indulge Daddy Winchester from time to time."

"True enough," he sighs. "Okay, well Cas said some things and they really hit close to home—he kinda has that way about him, huh?"

He says that like we're comrades. I guess he figures I've been through my share of Papa Winchester encounters. "You could say that. Does this mean you're considering not going through with this farce?"

"Tell me what you really think, Michael," he laughs, good naturedly, relaxing a little. I think this is helping him, though I don't see how, I'm not offering much. Trying not to. If the Winchester fools want to have their asses caned by Papa Winchester, they're really on their own. "You and Dean are lucky that way I guess. No matter who y'all date, it's just each other for you two."

How could he know that? If he knows that, my father knows that and that's not fucking good. Just like that, the tension is back. All morning I've been at ease, letting my guard down—I can't afford to fucking do that. Especially, this trip. I wouldn't doubt he's sent someone to watch me.

"Monogamy is a bizarre, societal construct. Humans are not meant to be monogamous and neither are angels. I thought we were talking about you."

"Right, sorry," he sighs. "From one top to another, what's your opinion, Michael?"

Now Dallas is labeling himself as a top? "My opinion is that this is further than I'd like to go into this conversation, I was supposed to be a sounding board, not a self-help book, but I'll leave you with the sappy human anecdote of: Follow your heart."

"Is that what you would do, Michael? Do angels have hearts?"

"Angels have bonds and obligations, nothing more." I know he believes I have a heart, because of Dean, but I don't. Dean is my heart. I don't care about much else after that. "I can't give you a proper answer. Sorry Dallas."

That makes him look down at his lap, spinning that forsaken ring again. It's troublesome to see this particular human in such peril. "Will you stop that?" I reach out to still his hand and huff, annoyed this has fallen to me. "Fine. I have one more thing to add, but it too is fairly cliché," I say looking around and talking low in his ear. I don't think there are any angels on this plane, but it's hard to be sure. "Instead of settling for who you can live with, strive for who you can't live without."

"That, so?" he says quirking an eyebrow at me.

"Yeah, even if it costs you an arm and a leg in Pine-Sol."


"Daddy? We there, yet?" I say waking up from my nap, but not opening my eyes, or moving from my spot across Daddy's broad torso.

"No Dean, Bean. Go back to sleep, I'll let you know when we're close."

"What about Michael?"

I feel Daddy's large hand in my hair again. "He's worried about you; checked on you so many times he got in trouble with the flight attendant. She's lucky he doesn't have much…you know…or he'd of smited her by now."

I snuggle further into Daddy. Thinking of Michael doing that for me makes me feel warm—he fucking cares about me.

I've still got some of that nervous anxiety in me, that…okay, I always feel when we fucking fly. Yes, I'm finally out of denial. But I don't feel panicky anymore and I think I could sit with Michael now if I tried…I just, don't want to hurt Daddy's feelings and that hand in my hair does feel good—Michael doesn't do it right—I decide it's not worth hurting Daddy over, I'll see Michael when we land. Besides, this'll give Uncle Dal and Michael some much needed bonding time. They don't often get time to talk.

"Dean Bean, would you be okay if Daddy went pee?"

I almost laugh. Daddy must be worried about me if he's talking in third person, like I'm a freaking three-year-old. Then I remember that I am cuddled up to my baby blanket and clinging to him for dear life. "Yeah, I'll be okay." Don't really want him to go though.

He slips away smoothly and I keep my eyes closed, shifting against the seat 'till I'm comfortable, but it's cold. I'm not cold long as the slender, familiar body slides in and roughly pulls me too him, staking his claim. "Hi Duck," he says, the gentleness of his voice juxtapose to the gruff, possessive way he holds me.

I open my eyes to peer up at him. "Hi."

He leans down to kiss my lips. "You're not obeying orders."

"What orders?"

"I taste the distinct lack of bitter, yet strangely sweet Colt cough drop special recipe."

"Oh," I laugh. "I was sleeping. Here, I'll take one." I reach into the bag that's still in my pocket and pull one out, wincing at the flavor, but moving it to the back of my mouth and tucking it somewhere, so it doesn't cause trouble. "Will you still kiss me?"

He smiles so big, his blue eyes shine and he kisses me again, it's a chaste kiss, but it still makes my insides twist naughtily. "How do you feel? No lying," he says with eyes I know to obey, or else.

"Better, but, not good Michael. I fucking hate planes. Can we never fly anywhere except Texas then home again? I don't care if I never fucking see Italy even if they have the hottest women."

"Never is a long time."

"And too soon when we're talking planes. I'd rather just drive everywhere in Baby—hey! Let's go on a trip to Canada, I hear they've got some great ski mountains."

"You don't ski."

"I could learn, but I think I'd rather snowboard."

"If you think I'm going to allow you to put death sleds on your feet and slide down a slicked up pile of ice then you don't know me very well."

"I know, I just wanted to hear you say it."

His hand moves to my hair, where Daddy's was earlier and the way he moves his fingers through my short hair is different than earlier. Still not quite how Daddy does it, but another version of perfect. "Mmmmm…" I say relaxing and squishing further into Michael.

"Go back to sleep, Baby, okay?"

"What's with you today? What's all this 'okay' bullshit?"

"Go to sleep, or I'll blister your bottom and I promise you, it won't be fun."

Ah. That's better. I don't say it out loud though, choosing to drift off to sleep instead, knowing full well, Michael meant every word of that and that he always keeps his promises.

Chapter Text

When we're out of the car, officially landed on Colt territory, it begins. "Uh, Michael? You might want to cover your ears."

"Why would I want to—"





Their greeting is loud as usual and I hang back just a little, watching, enjoying them from a far, which Papa calls Winchestering. Winchesters are far less animated than Colts. It doesn't mean they love you any less, it's just not the way they are. "Dean! Come see Nana baby!"

I only get to hang back so long, with all of them taking turns hugging each other, until I'm pulled into the Colt frenzy by Nana. "Hi Nana," I say as she pulls me to her. I wrap my arms around her.

"You're getting so big!" She kisses my face a million times before she notices Michael and it's hard to stop myself laughing because I know what he's in for and exactly how much he's going to like it. "What's going on with you? You look tired, you getting sick?"

"I think he's fighting a bug," Daddy helpfully provides.

"I'm not fighting a bug, Nana. Daddy just thinks I am. It's just tired from flying – that's all."

Daddy gives me the stink-eye for contradicting him.

"Still. Grandmother's have a sixth sense about these kinds of things dear, I best make you some of my special tea."


"Michael! So glad you could come this year! C'mere sugar." Before the angel can figure out what's happening, Nana's got him pulled into one of her constricting hugs (Nana's strong for an old bird). "We're so excited you're here. I've got a room set up for you in the hall across from Dean's."

"Um, that's great Nana Colt. I thank you."

I still get a fluttery, smirky feeling every time I hear Michael refer to Nana Colt as Nana Colt rather than Mrs. Colt. She established that with him early on and you just don't mess with Nana Colt. She's sweet as honey and loads of fun, but she'll set you straight when she needs to. "Come on in, come on in, everybody's inside!"

We drag our suitcases in the door and she wasn't kidding, everybody is inside. I see Uncle Jackson, and my older cousins, Winnie, Jasper and Sable who are his kids and I know all have kids probably running around in the backyard somewhere. Auntie Bree's here too with her daughter Suzanna, who's bouncing little Riley on her knee (he's one I think). Auntie Bree's got three more children, Aiden and the twins, Ricky and Rory (girl) who are my age.

Auntie Savannah's here too. I don't see her husband or any of her kids (who are both in their late twenties and I know one of them has a kid) so she must have come alone. Auntie Louisa's here too and I don't see her kids, but that doesn't mean they aren't here, hers are a bit younger and they could be out back. She's also got a little one on her knee.

My cousins Sammy (he's Samuel 'the third') and Austin are here, they're Auntie Georgia's two eldest (yes they have kids too) but I don't see Aaron, Jesse or August her other three. Uncle Jamie and his husband are here and their son Anderson who's also my age. He's actually an adopted moddler, which is kind of cool, but he wasn't spiked like I was, and proper Modlenol was used on him, versus the demon/angel kinds that were used on Michael and I, so his situation's more 'normal.'

Auntie Caroline's here on her own, though her kids are younger and some of'em could be outside. Auntie Lily Faye just had her first babies six months ago, another set of Colt twins; May and June (I know, I know, but they're so cute no one cares) who I've only seen in pictures 'till now. She's got one and her husband, Uncle Justin's got the other. Uncle Hunter's even here, Auntie Lily-Faye's twin with his wife who's holding their youngest, Emmy. I know they've got a five-year-old, Julie, and mini-Uncle Dallas is sitting on his Daddy's lap. He looks just like Uncle Dallas and he's named after him too. Dallas Junior. Auntie Luella's even here. She's in her mid-thirties now and no kids, or spouse, but I think she's got a girlfriend.

Yeah, I know, right? So many Colts it makes your head spin and this isn't all of them, we've still got all Daddy's cousins and their kids and their kid's kids.

When Granddaddy Colt sees me, he gets up from his recliner to greet me. He's younger than Grampa Winchester, who's already in his eighties, still in his late seventies. His hair's mostly grey, but still long, with a clean shaven face that's only just weathering. He's still got enough strength, I think all the kids keep him young. This house is always bustling with activity. "Well hello there Grandson. It's been too long.

It takes an hour to go around saying 'hi' to everyone, and then Daddy comes up behind me. "Okay Dean upstairs. Let's go."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what for? We just got here Daddy."

"I told you, you're fighting a bug. You're going to lie down for a couple of hours. Nana's got your room all set up."

Michael's smirking at me. "Daddy, I'm fine."

"We're not arguing about this, Sur. Move."

My Daddy's somewhat of a legend in the Colt house. A legend that's passed on from generation to generation. No one in the family wants to be on the wrong side of Sammy Colt. I can tell by some of the looks I'm getting from the kids, they're amazed I'm still alive for even thinking to argue. But I've got Papa you see and compared to him, everyone seems like soft cuddly teddy bears aaaand he's not here right now. Otherwise I'd have been up the stairs like a jack rabbit.

"Daddy," I whisper. "Can't we talk about this?"

"I will start handing out spankings. Move." Nope. That's not whispered in case you were wondering.

He's not kidding. I blush hot, because I'm sure anyone in proximity's heard him. "Okay. Jeez." Michael, who's stuck close to me this whole time, tolerating the receiving line of hellos, follows us, smirking. We retrieve our luggage from the front door and head up the stairs, away from all the mayhem; it feels like being pulled from the crashing sea. We only do this once a year, it's not enough for me to get used to an ocean of Colts, but it is fun. I know Daddy misses it sometimes, but Papa, much as he loves the Colts, he loves calm, quiet, relaxed and all other adjectives of that nature.

Michael makes himself comfortable on a chair, while Daddy starts rifling through my suitcase. "Here, put this shirt on, and take those off, it'll be more comfortable for sleeping, I want to take your temperature."

He hands me a tank top, that's not so bad since it's hot as blazes anyway, so I strip off my jeans, down to my boxers when Daddy leaves the room and change my shirt, trying to come up with a reasonable argument of why this is nuts, one that will sway Daddy, but nothing's coming. This is happening.

Michael pulls a book off the shelf. "Wipe that look off your face, Duck, else it might freeze that way."

"Well, this is bullshit. I'm not sick. Daddy's overreacting."

Michael laughs. "I double dare you to say that to his face."

"What's Michael laughing about?" Daddy says, returning and bearing a thermometer.

"Nothing, Daddy. You know him, he's just being himself."

"Open," he says sticking the thermometer under my tongue. "I'm going to give you two one warning, just one. If you're going to fight like little children while we're here, I'm going to treat you like little children and you're going to find yourselves staring at corners. Am I understood?"

Remember that legend I talked about? There he is. Daddy at home, even 'Daddy without Papa for too long Daddy' and in a bad mood, is a lot more tolerant than this, but soon as he gets around this many of his family members, he's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; a switch flips and he slips into his Captain of the ship mode, like he never left it. No one questions it.

I look at him levelly and nod, since I've got the thermometer under my tongue – that would be fucking embarrassing here.

"Yes, sir," Michael says putting down his book to look Daddy in the eyes.

When the thermometer beeps, Daddy takes it out and inspects it. "It's just as I thought. It's not too high, but it's above your normal temperature. As doctor Shaggy says, that's your body fighting a bug."

We are all familiar with what doctor Shaggy says in our house. He's right between holiness and cleanliness. He pulls me off the bed so he can open the covers for me, I climb in because Daddy means business right now. I'm a little shocked that my temperature's up right now, because I really do feel fine, just tired and I want to argue and say my temperature's likely up because we've just arrived on the sun, but I don't.

"Okay Michael. Out."

"But, Mr. Winchester, please. Don't make me go down there with all those Colts. I'm not ready for it alone. Besides, I'd rather hold vigil over Dean," he says like I'm on my deathbed.

"You can stick with me, honey. We don't bite." But Daddy must be able to see the same thing in Michael's blue eyes that I do because he does that head tilt thing he does when he's reconsidering. "Okay. You may stay here and watch over Dean. No funny business. I mean it you two. If I find out you had sex in Nana and Granddaddy Colt's house, you'll both receive the spanking of your lives."

I doubt either Nana or Granddaddy Colt would care, but that's not the point, Daddy does. "Aye aye, Captain," I say. My humor is not appreciated. Wrong time, wrong place, Winchester.

"Just because your father's not here, doesn't mean you can misbehave Dean Daniel Jonathan. I am the gatekeeper on your fun times until he returns, I'm not afraid to put restrictions on those."

Whoa. When he gets this way, I can't help, but admire this version of Daddy; he's kinda bad-ass. "Yes, sir."

He looks to Michael. "Yes, sir. I won't even look at him, with sexual suggestion."

"You may stay then and you may read. No talking. He's sleeping."

"Yes, sir."

Once he thinks we've been put on notice, he softens. "Sweet dreams Dean Bean. I'll get Nana to pull out some soup broth for you."

"Thank you, Daddy."

Soon as he's gone, I laugh into my pillow, hoping he doesn't hear. Michael can hardly contain himself either. "Give me one of those," he whispers.

I check the door, then toss him a pillow, so he can laugh into it too. We both do rounds of "shhhh…be quiet," to the other and freak when there's a knock on the door. I flip over and pretend to be asleep, Michael tells the person to come in and by this point, I'm already sure it's not Daddy. He wouldn't have waited since according to him, we couldn't possibly be doing anything that we would need privacy for. I'm right, it's Uncle Dal.

"I know you're not asleep Dean, your daddy just left."

Damn. "Hey, Uncle Dally," I say opening my eyes and looking at him. I don't like that look in his eyes. Man, I'm supposed to be sick, why's everyone scolding me?

"I thought we reached an understanding on the plane, half-pint."

Aw man. Yeah Uncle Dallas is, well, my uncle, but we've always considered each other friends too. It takes a lot for him to reach disappointed. "We did, Uncle Dal. I was just excited, but Daddy put a lid on that. I'm going to behave, I swear."

Unfortunately, Uncle Dal has a two strikes and you're out policy. He shuts the door and lays down on the other side of the double bed. He stays on his back, closes his eyes and folds his hands onto his belly. "Go to sleep, Dean," he says in his calm, cool Uncle Dal way, but it's a firm order.

I flick my eyes to Michael real quick. He's already reading again, but he flicks his eyes up to me too; we silently agree it's in our own best interests for me to go to sleep and him to read. So we do and I can't help, but feel that Papa-like comfort, with Uncle Dal beside me.

It's not long before, Dean's…out.


Now that Dallas is here, I feel somewhat useless. It doesn't upset me as much as it used to. Even I have to admit that after many Topversations with Papa Winchester, I'm beginning to understand their convoluted system of "Topping," so to speak. On the plane, Dean required a particular kind of comfort, right now he needed a particular kind of 'Top.'

Papa Winchester seems to think that as mine and Dean's relationship evolves, he'll come to me more and more for that. Papa Winchester's often pointed how much he and Sam have been through to get to where they are in their relationship. He says it will be easier for Dean and I, because we are surrounded by a family of those who know exactly how to ground Dean, that when I make a mistake, or simply can't 'see' what Dean needs, as we're learning about the other in this new way, someone else from the family will step in. It was easy to see that's what just happened.

Not to mention, after being scolded by a superior, I fumbled a bit. And well, it was kind of funny. It's not often we get to see Terminator Daddy Winchester, I only wish I'd brought popcorn.

Papa Winchester's pointed out that Dean and I have always had the foundations; Dean's always looked to me for solid support, just as I've looked to him for other kinds of support.

I watch Dean sleep for a bit. He does look a bit off. Sam is ridiculously good at sniffing that sort of thing out. I hope he extricates this 'bug' before it really hits. I doubt he'll let me heal him. He knows too much about me, knows how much of my already low reserve of grace it uses up and how tapping into my own, also low amount of grace, will exhaust me. He's clearly stated on many occasions that it's going to have to be life-threatening before he allows me to use my grace to heal Dean.

Daddy Winchester also knows that my father has forbidden me the use of my grace, unless I'm on a mission for him, and what he'll do to me should he find I've disobeyed him. But I don't care how much my father carves me up, I'm willing to suffer that for Dean, though strangely, I find the naughty step much worse and I've no doubt Daddy Winchester would do that no matter where we are.

In a very human-like manner, I take a deep breath and decide to brave the Colt Sea. These are Dean's family members, if my plan works with father, perhaps someday these will be my family members. Not that I care to have relations with them, but I know it's important to Dean and what Dean thinks is all that matters.

I close my book and slip out the door. It is hotter than a forno oven here, so I remove my jacket and undo a few buttons to my shirt. On my way down the hall, I bump into Nana Colt. "Oh, Michael. Do you know where your room is?"

"No, Ma'am."

"I'll show you, you'd probably like to change, you must be sweltering in that get up, corn muffin."

This woman insists on calling me 'corn muffin,' while Gramma Winchester insists on calling me peanut butter (even though I hate peanut butter), I'll never understand this family's fascination with cutesy nicknames. At least Gramma Winchester's consistent, only varying with the odd, 'dear,' 'sweetheart,' or other such common grandmotherly type endearment. Nana Colt will call you anything from Corn Muffin to Chicken Noodle Soup.

I follow her back toward Dean's room; I'm just across the hall from Dean, like she mentioned earlier. "Um, Nana Colt, my suitcase is back in Dean's room."

"Don't you worry there, sugar-pop, I've got some extras I keep for the grandkids and such. I've got something that'll fit you. You go'on and undress, I'll fix you up."

Why I decide to undress (and in front of this woman) I'll never know, but I do, down to my boxers and stand there stupidly as I wait for her to dig into the closets. "Aha! This will look good on you. We should get you a hat too. We're all outside now, that skin'll burn in this heat."

The chances of my skin burning are low, I suppose it could happen eventually, but it's highly unlikely. I'd need at least forty-eight hours of continuous sun at high intensity for that to happen. But she doesn’t know how angels work and I want to be polite, in any case, I don't argue about the hat, but the pants… "Nana Colt, these have holes in them. There's hardly any blue jean left."

"You're just gonna have to trust me, Sugar. Those will be just the right amount of breezy and the shirt's a thin cotton. Get dressed and I'll fetch you a hat and some sandals."


As fun as standing half naked is, I decide hole-ridden jeans are better, so I put them on and the t-shirt. I slip my socks off in preparations for the 'sandals' I'm not likely to fight the little human on anyway. Already I feel…comfortable.

"Well don't you look handsome! Dean's gonna love it."

"H-he will?"

"'Course. I don't know who doesn't love a cowboy. Here."

She hands me a black Stetson and a pair of flip-flops that don't look too bad. Thankfully they're not those damned Havaiana brand flip-flops Dean insists on wearing, they've got, sturdy straps and thick foamed bottoms.

"Thank you," I say as I slide into them and don the hat.

"You're all set. Take your time and c'mon down to the back. We're serving drinks and food on the deck."

I don't take long, just enough time to look myself over and make sure I don't look too stupid, except I think I do look stupid. So long as this impresses Dean, I'll do it. If he laughs, I'm changing.

I head down and the house has been completely vacated by the adults, there are too many kids running all over the place, so I head (escape) to the kitchen. Sam's there, already putting trays together and calling out orders to people. He looks at home doing it though. Likely Papa Winchester knew this, I'll bet he planned his business trip this way, gives Sam a bit of time to stretch his Captain legs. He's smiling, but has got that busy look in his eyes. The amount he's able to do all at once is impressive and I can see why he needs people to just follow orders, especially when there's this amount of people. If not, the ship will sink.

Everyone's helping too. Even some of the little ones. I stand watching in awe a few moments. At first glance, it looks like utter chaos, but on closer inspection, you can see that all the parts of the Colt engine run with orchestrated precision, perfectly timed pistons and well oiled carburetors.

Sam finishes with the trays and volunteers someone to bring them outside. Someone hands him a baby, who he greets specially, then goes to stir something on the stove, like there was no interruption. He gives the baby a cracker (which I'm sure is a homemade, Colt approved cracker) as he continues to stir the pot of something and instructs some little girl (I haven't met all the kids) to do something while someone else is asking him what to do with a little boy. Sam looks around and his eyes land on me.

"Michael, you're here. C'mere please."

Fuck. I have a bad feeling about this, but I go. "Give Dallas to Michael, Ansel sweetie. He'll know what to do with him."

The little girl (Ansel, I guess) hands me a little blonde boy and I take him. "Dallas?"

"Yep, that's Dally Junior, aren't you, Sugar-pie," Sam says to him. "He's Hunter and Gerylene's boy. He's three."

"Well can't Hunter or Gerylene handle this?" I say, but he's already curled into me.

"Gerylene's not here, she had to leave and Hunter's busy."

"Mr. Winchester, can't anyone else take care of him?"

"What is it with you and Dean today and the talking back? I've had it up to here, Michael. You can look after him, minus the complaining, or find a step to sit on until dinner."

Asking him if he remembers that I'm a millennia old angel is a stupid question that will get me sent to said step. It's an easy decision. "Yes, sir. What do you want done with him?"

"Better. Take him to pee and entertain him. He looks tired to me though, see if he'll have a snooze."

"If he does fall asleep, where do I put him?"

"You're in charge of him, so that's up to you. I suggest somewhere you can keep a close eye on him."

"How long am I in charge of him?"

"'Till his Daddy can take him, or dinner, whichever comes first."

Perfect. I'll complete the first two tasks then find his daddy and I'll be done with him. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you, honey."

I forget to ask where the washroom is, but when I turn back to ask Sam, he's already being bombarded by the next three Colts with questions for him, I don't know how he does it, this would drive me insane. I do the only logical thing and ask the three-year-old. "Do you know where the," I clear my throat, "potty is, Dallas."

"I'm not Dallas, I'm Dally, who're you?"

He's got a thick little accent and clearly being passed around doesn't phase him, he's probably used to it. "I'm called Michael." The whole time I walk, I continuously peer into different rooms, finally chancing upon a washroom.

I go inside, shut the door and set the kid down on the floor. Okay, I remember how to do this. I remove his pants and underwear completely (Dean used to get them full of pee) he's not wearing shoes or socks, his feet are filthy. I'm going to have to wash those, I am compelled. Nothing like I'm compelled with Dean though. Just a 'normal' level of desire for cleanliness and not what Dean calls my angel OCD like I get instantly with Dean.

I see a little stool and stand him on it in front of the toilet, I hold his shirt up for him. The whole while, the kid stares up at me in awe, trying to figure me out. "Do you know who Dean is?"

He shakes his head. "Well he's your big cousin and I'm his friend. Go pee."

He obeys, his tiny member starting in little spurts then trickling pee into the toilet as he makes a poor attempt at controlling it. Great, now I've got to clean up pee too.

"Okay, say goodbye to the pee, we have to clean you up." I'm being sarcastic, but he takes me literally.

"Bye bye, pee." He waves.

I sit him on the counter and start on his dirty feet (I don't know why I bother, without shoes they're bound to get dirty again), he giggles. "That tickles, Mycle."

Huh. This kid can speak well, that's pretty good. "I do apologize."

He laughs again. "You talks, fu-funny!"

Somehow, he doesn't have any of the invisible dirt Dean always seems to have on him and I get his feet to cleanly perfection in one go. I re-dress him. "Thank you," he says. Manners must not be just a Winchester thing.

"You gunna play with me?" he drawls.

"Um, yes. What do you like to play?"

"Chase me!"


The kid runs off and I do chase him. Thankfully I'm fast, but these ridiculous shoes make it difficult even for me. He makes it through the kitchen, but I snatch him up. "I don't think so, that's not a good game. Let's go find something else." I know a good game called 'find the Daddy' I'm going to play. We head outside.

Outside is utter mayhem. When everyone was in the living room, they all seemed contained, like a plant pot of mint, but released out of their pens like this, it's mint, mint, all over the place. Growing in with your oregano and thyme; at least that's what Daddy Winchester complains about all the time. They are a ravenous sea and I feel like I'm going to be swallowed whole.

I spot Granddaddy Colt, it's eerie how much he and Sam look alike. He's barbequing ribs. "Hey there Michael, you lost?"

"A little. I believe this one belongs to Hunter. Have you seen him?" Thankfully, I have a photographic memory and I remember what he looks like from re-meeting him earlier. Before now, I hadn't seen him in a few years and while I don't change much anymore, humans do.

"That'd be Hunter, he's over there," he says pointing to a dirty-blonde chasing two little girls around. "You want me to take him Michael?"

Tempting, but Daddy Winchester was clear with his instructions. "No, sir. But thank you – I'm supposed to find his daddy."

"Gotcha. Let me know if you need anymore help."

I head off in the direction of Hunter, my funny shoes making an annoying sound, seriously regretting my choice to come down here. I'm adrift with no life raft, I should have waited for Dean. The whole time, Dallas junior stares at me. He's actually fairly quiet like Dallas (with the odd burst of three-year-old enthusiasm) and has got the same kind of eyes; I'm not talking about color, though they are Colt blue. Dallas has a way of reading your soul and so does this kid. "You're shiny," he says.

I've been an angel a long time, I've seen things that would scare the bravest of people and not batted an eye. That creeps me out a bit…which makes me end up liking the kid some. "Shiny?"


Some kids, special kids can recognize angels. Or I suppose it's more like, they recognize when a human is not just a human. This kid senses something different about me, but probably can't articulate what. It's something they usually lose over time. I've never asked Dallas Senior about it, but I bet he could do it…maybe he still can.

I approach Hunter and he looks busy. He clearly does not have the skills of big brother Sammy. I thought they were playing, but on closer inspection, he's trying to get them to settle down. Someone needs to tell this Colt there's no such thing in his family. "Jesus Murphy Emmy-Lou, you need your diaper changed, c'mere." He scoops her up.

The bigger kid climbs onto his leg. "Daddy! I'm hungry, hungry, hungry!"

He looks stressed out and like he hasn't slept in a very long time, I'd wager since the one on his leg was born. I wonder how many of these things Dean's going to want? I know he wants at least one (thanks to his weird dream). Despite all his tough talk about getting back into hunting, whenever I tell him he's not getting back into hunting, I know he wants a family and it's a known fact: Hunters can't have families. The ones that do, end up with really tough lives…like Old Dean. I don't like thinking of Old Dean because Old Dean is still my Dean and I have certain opinions of what I think of my Dean hunting vampires at twelve.

"Howdy Michael."

Hunter knows who I am, who I really am. Most of the Colts do now. I used to 'play' with some of them when we were 'kids,' so Sam and Castiel were forced to explain why I was young again when my father re-modified me, hopefully for the last time. Modification is common enough (though there are some groups that would like to see it banned – it's become increasingly controversial due to the number of spikings that have been happening over the last ten years) but there was no lie fool proof enough to tell Sam's family, so we went with the truth. No one seemed surprised since many of them had their own theories about me anyway. The Colts are insightful people, it runs in their blood. However, only Jared and Jensen know the hard truths about angels, most Colts view us as saviors, so I'm well liked by all save the hunter twins. Jared doesn't hate me, he's just wary, but Jensen would like nothing more than to see my head impaled on an angel blade.

"Hello Hunter." Hunter's tall like the rest of the Colts, with much of Jensen's cool swagger, but a healthy sprinkle of Dallas's calm presence. He looks a little like Dallas, but his hair's not as blonde.

"Oh, you got Dally, thanks. Poor kid, he's the easiest, so he gets the least attention. You don't mind, do you Michael? I gotta change this one and feed the other. He need anything?"

Guess I'm not off loading the kid. "Sam says he might need a nap?"

"Lookit! He likes you, Michael. Just curls into you, that's real cute. Yeah, he looks tired, you can put him to sleep if you want. Our kids aren't on any particular schedule."

Of course they're not. "Okay. I'll feed him when he wakes up," I offer, because it looks like I'm stuck with the kid. The best I can hope for is scoring points with Daddy Winchester when Hunter tells him how wonderful I was with his son.

"Daddy! Let's! Go!" The little urchin says and the baby starts crying.

"Okay, okay," he says bouncing the baby. Suddenly I'm grateful to only have one and for the one in particular I have. I could have got stuck with one of them. "Thanks Michael, that would be swell."

Dally doesn't cry when his daddy walks off, instead he snuggles into me further. "Wanna sleep, Mycle," he tells me. I'm shocked. Dean never wanted to sleep until he became a teenager, then he wanted to sleep all the time.

"Okay. Let's find somewhere quiet." If that exists around here.

Chapter Text

I wake up when I hear my phone ring and know it can only be one person. All my friends have forgotten that you actually can call a cell phone and so have I really, we just text now. Michael calls me sometimes, but he's…oh, not here. Where the hell did he go?

Still isn't likely to be him, so I know it's Papa before I even check the call display. "Papa?" I say sleepily. Uncle Dal stirs.

"Hey, kiddo. Did I wake you?"

"Yeah s'okay though, Papa. Been sleeping…" I check the time. "About an hour."

"Were you that tired after the flight?"

"No. Daddy thinks I'm fighting a bug, he made me sleep."

"You're sick?"

"No. Not sick. Fighting a bug." There's a difference damn it.

"Dean. I'd better not hear about you giving your daddy trouble on this, you do what he says to, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir, but he's being crazy. He's gone Colt." I completely throw him under the bus hoping Papa will talk sense into him. "I'm sure he's drowning in babies as we speak."

"So that's why I can't get him, he's not answering his cellphone."

Shit. I didn't mean to get Daddy in actual trouble. I was just hoping Papa would do his thing with him that brings him back from crazy, not get him spanked. Papa hates when Daddy doesn't answer his cellphone. It's one of their rules, and mine too for that matter. "You want me to find him and get him to call you?" I might as well suck up, since the opportunity has risen.

"No that's okay. I'll call him later. How was the plane ride?"

"Not good, Papa," I admit. He'll find out anyway. "But I swear, I really thought I was okay until we took off. Ask Uncle Dal and Daddy and…Uncle Dal," I say twice. I almost said Michael, but as if he'll ask Michael.

"I believe you kiddo, but I'm getting my assistant to change our flights home. We'll be taking the company plane home."

Didn't need a crystal ball to see that coming. I'm not going to complain about taking a private jet home. Yeah I really wanted to fly commercially, but every time I try it, I'm reminded of how much it sucks. Especially the food. I ended up feeling okay to eat toward the end of the flight and boy did I regret it.

"Yes, Papa."

"I'm worried about you Kiddo. Where's Michael?"

"Don't know, he was here when I fell asleep, but he's gone now," I say without thinking, because I'm still waking up.

"Michael was sleeping with you?"

Wow am I glad we didn't actually sleep together and that Uncle Dal's here. "No. No way, no sir. He was in the chair and Daddy said…Uncle Dal's been here the whole time, you wanna talk to him?"

"What's going on over there?"

I shove my phone at Uncle Dal, who's awake now too. "Hey brother Castiel…"

I trust in Uncle Dal to take care of Papa and ease whatever fears I've just haunted him with, as I pull on a pair of shorts from my suitcase. Huh. Michael's suitcase is still in here, he must be sweating to death in that stuffy outfit he insisted on wearing.

That's as far as I get when Uncle Dal is handing me back my phone apologetically. "Papa?"

"Dallas tells me Michael's room is across the hall from yours?"

I'm not a hundred percent sure that's a question. I answer anyway. "It is, sir."

"Keep it that way. I'm not pleased to find out you've been giving Daddy a hard time about taking care of you – what's going on?"

"Nothing Papa, I swear. I'm just…"


It's amazing how just my name said in that tone by my father is usually enough to spur talking. "I'm really excited about Michael being here. It seems…important somehow, but I haven't quite figured that part out yet."

There's any eerie silence from the other end of the phone, I think for the first time ever, at least in my current recollection, I've left my father speechless. "Papa?"

"I'm here. Never-the-less, obey your daddy, even if he Colt remedies you to death and mind your uncle Dallas too, please. For some reason, I'm sensing Colt mayhem to be at an all time high this year. I would like to speak with Michael please. Tell him to call me later."

"Yes, sir."

"And in case it wasn't clear, Michael may not sleep in your room, nor may you sleep in his."

"I got that and if I hadn't from you, Daddy already threatened our lives, Papa."

"Not the answer I'm looking for, young man."

Everyone's so strict today. "Yes, Father."

"Thanks son. Okay, love you kiddo."

"Love you too, Papa."

I hang up, my heart beating out of its chest. Papa doesn't sound happy. Uncle Dal laughs at me. "You gonna behave now, Sur?"

"I always intend on behaving."

"Well, do it, or I'm going to spank you."

Everyone wants to spank me. Story of my life. "Yes, sir."

I finish dressing then Uncle Dal and I head downstairs. He heads off to the kitchen, but I hang back not dumb enough to go in there. That's likely where Daddy is and Daddy hands out jobs. Yes, even fighting a bug. He'll just give me something less strenuous. Either that, or he'll sit me in a chair and start Colt remedies. I'm prolonging that long as possible.

I want to find Michael, no surprise. I should want to spend time with the relatives I've not seen in a year, but I need to see Michael.

I don't see him venturing out into the Colt sea. Not alone. I was surprised he left the safety of my room after he begged Daddy like he did. I check a few rooms, but no Michael, just a bunch of Colt children. Just as I'm starting to think he did brave the backyard, I hear a familiar voice singing the Winnie-the-Pooh song. I follow and arrive at the third door down the hallway and can't move.

It's Michael. I know his voice anywhere, a voice my psyche imprinted deeply, a long time ago, but it doesn't look like Michael. This one is a Colt manufactured facsimile. Someone dressed him up like a cowboy; thin cotton t-shirt, black cowboy hat and I don't know how they managed it, but they got him into jeans with far too many holes for this to be my Michael.

And oh my god. His feet are bare. Just that makes my dick hard… I've got a thing for bare feet, Michael's bare feet.

I look to see who he's singing to. Passed out, lying on the bed in front of where he's sitting, is mini-Dallas, Michael's cool smooth voice drifts over him, coating him like sunrays. He looks content; peaceful.

It does something to me. Not just his voice singing, but the picture it makes. My heart squeezes. Suddenly, I want this. And yeah, I know. I know what the deal is between Michael and I; how Michael never wants this, but for a moment, I pretend he does. I imagine us with a child…or four, in a house (close to Papa and Daddy—maybe they'll just let us build on their property) together, happy.

Suddenly hunting is far from thought.

I always had this idea, that I'd head back to hunting once my twenty-first birthday hit. Hell, a few weeks ago isn't the only time I've wanted to join my uncles on a hunt, but to tell you the truth, I don't even know why I was doing it, or why I'd want to anymore, 'cept that it just seems like the thing I'm supposed to do. Like some destiny that I was head long running toward. Forever. A cycle on repeat.

Now, I see it's yet just another remnant of old Dean, haunting me. I'm not him anymore. Haven't been in a long time. Even if he pops up now and again, it's just a visitor from my past. Old Dean's an apartment I've moved out of I remember from time to time, but, you know, I don't live there anymore.

You can't have kids and hunt. Hell. You can't have a normal life and hunt. I don't need to remember my old life to know that, I just have to look Uncle Jared and Jensen and if that's not enough there's Uncle Bobby. He also reminds me and has shared some of John's, my dad's, sentiments on the topic. It was a life he got us into, but it was no life for a kid and John would never have picked it for me. I didn't have an easy life, Uncle Bobby said, which was all the more reason for him to be happy I got this second shot.

Thing is, the obligation's gone. I know that's part of it; what drives me to it sometimes. Old Dean's obligation, his need to hunt. More and more, I feel those things less and less. I don't have the need, the darker needs old Dean had that compelled him to hunt.

I do know what could drive me to it.


"Shhh. What's wrong with you?" he whispers. "You'll wake the baby."

I smile, completely in love with him again, more in love with him, even with that searing glare he's got aimed at me. I tip-toe over and sit myself in his lap, kissing the anger off his beautiful face.

"You look fucking hot like this. Fuck me later?"

"And have my vessel castrated by Daddy Winchester?"

"Naw. We'll be super stealth." I keep kissing him.

"Do you have a cloak of invisibility you're about to tell me about?"

"Okay, okay, but you look fucking hot as a cowboy," I say between more kisses to his neck. "And this is fucking teasing."

"How quickly you forget we're dripping in your family members."

"Don't care." Kiss. Kiss.

"I do. Now stop that before your next spanking is a real one, rather than the two Michael fun spankings I'm owed."

"All right. Jeez. They dress you in panties too?" I say as I climb off him and receive a hard whack to my ass, which is definitely not a fun spanking (see? I know the difference). I have to rub my ass. "Ow."

The whole ordeal wakes the baby. "Now look what you've done," Michael says.


None of this diminishes my joy, watching Michael with mini-Dal. Dallas rubs his eyes looking put out. It doesn't seem to phase him that Michael's here, instead of his mama. "Was sleepin' Michael. Am sleepy."

"Go back to sleep, Dallas," Michael says gently, picking him up. "I'll rock you some more."

I watch with a happy, warm feeling in my gut, as Michael rocks him, arms wrapped around his little torso protectively. Dally junior, tucks himself into Michael with relaxed trust; he knows Michael will keep him safe.

Huh. Maybe I wouldn't be the Mama Hen in this scenario.

Michael expertly puts Dally junior back to sleep and lays him down. He puts a finger to his lips, telling me to be quiet, or else, but then holds his arms out to me, inviting me back. I make myself comfortable in his lap again. "Thought we were dripping in too many of my relatives for this?"

"We are. You feeling all right, Duck?" he says quietly.

"Yeah. I'm fine. I wish everyone would stop fussing. Where'd you run off to? You were gone when I woke up."

"I needed to make a phone call to my father then was accosted by Nana Colt and accomplices."

"Oh, you were not." I snuggle into his neck.

"Was too. She dressed me like this. I was too afraid of Daddy Winchester to tell her 'no.'"

Right. Michael likes Nana Colt and probably did it for her alone; nothing to do with Daddy. I think Michael prefers Gramma Winchester (because Michael's a natural Winchester) but he likes Nana Colt fine. I don't say anything about it though. "Daddy also the reason you're watching him?"

"Yes. It was either that or the naughty step—he wouldn't do that here, would he?"

"Did you just meet him yesterday? Yeah. 'Course he would."

Michael's face blanches. He likes to think he doesn't care what 'the humans' think, but he so does. He'd be embarrassed if Daddy made him sit on the stairs like a toddler. "Glad you found me then. I appreciate the warning."

"Well I have another one for you. Papa wants you to call him."

"What? Why? What did I do?" He's practically hysterical, but still whispering of course.

I shrug. "Don't know, but I don't think you have to worry. You're safe. It's me they're all bent out of shape over."

"You do need a good spanking."

"What? Why? What did I do?"

"It's not what you did…yet. It's what's coming."

"I do not need a thinking spanking Michael."

"You do if I say you do. For that alone, you need to remember I'm the Top. I think you've forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten." Have I? Much as I hate to admit it, Michael's usually right about these things. "Michael, am I being—"

"Shh." He pulls my head to the crook of his neck and rest his chin on my head. "It's my fault. We're both out of sorts. But I have a feeling Papa Winchester will set me straight. I'm worried about you, Duck."

I roll my eyes (he can't see). "Michael, even if I do get sick, which is a really big if, it's usually a cold or something. I'm not going to die."

"Shh. No more talking."

I let go a big heavy sigh. Maybe Michael's the one who needs me? I hug him tight and close my eyes again. I don't fall asleep, even when he starts humming the Pooh song again, but I do feel good and a little less 'out of sorts.'


I done took it off. The ring. Damn Cas and his level head. Damn Michael and his 'words of angel wisdom.'

I'm guilty of getting caught up. It's not often I feel sorry for myself, but I love Chris so damn much and hearing over and over about how he'll never marry me depressed me. Didn't even realize it 'till I ended up with a ring around my finger. I wanted something, anything to focus on, so I could stop focusing on that—the fact that Chris was never really and wouldn't ever be mine. I'm not a man prone to punching stuff when I'm frustrated, but the situation has exhausted all my level-headed actions and I'm regressed to that—just wanting to punch something, feeling like there's no answer. I really believed things were great with us. It's been a long road. I was willing to wait long as long it took, really I was.

Then this.

Axl looking at me like I'm everything. Chris acting like I'm nothing.

Sammy's in the kitchen. Looks like he's been in the kitchen the whole time, resuming his role in our family like he never left it. "There you are. Dean awake?" he asks.

"Yeah. Went to find Michael. Cas called," I slip in casually.

My big brother pales at the mention of his husband. "Fiddlesticks. I'd better check my phone."

I already know from Cas, there are going to be messages he hasn't seen. It really irritates Cas when Sam doesn't answer his cellphone. A long standing bit between them. It's the only way Sam really chronically brats out over. He's got a thing against cell phones none of us will ever understand. It's why he's still kept their home phone line; almost no one has one of those anymore.

He shifts little baby May to one hip and fishes his phone out of his jean's pocket. "Fudge. Twenty missed calls."

I laugh and shake my head. He's so bad with that thing. How'd he not feel it twenty times? It's a different story when Dean's out. Dean, unlike Sam, is obsessed with his cellphone and makes a point of only calling his daddy's when he's out. It's those times, Sam seems to have a sixth sense for his cell, but the rest of the time, it's like it doesn't exist. I do have to give him some credit. He's better with it than he used to be.

I know this means he'll be in big trouble with Cas, but I'm not worried about my big brother. "Here, you want me to take her, so you can call him?" I offer.

"Would you? Thanks Dal."

"'Course." I take baby May from him. This all works in my favor anyway. The busier I am, the less I think about this engagement mess and the less I think about Chris. I know it's something I gotta deal with, but I just don't have an answer yet. 'Till then taking care of others suits me fine. It suits me just fine.


When Dallas Junior wakes up, Auntie Gerylene walks in the front door, back early from where she was. "Mama," Dallas says reaching for her.

"Well hello there baby boy, come see Mama." She takes him. "Didn't think I was gonna make it back 'till after dinner. You boys been looking after him the whole time?"

"Michael did most of the work," I say wanting him to score major brownie points with my extended family. I want them all to see how great he is, that there's more too him than just his Michael scowl. "He's peed, napped and has been entertained. We were just going to feed him."

"That true, my quiet little angel?" She teases him.

"Ah peed Mama," he says in his cute little Colt drawl.

"Good boy. Thank you boys," she says turning to us. "I'll take it from here. I know boys your age like to do things that don't include looking after little boys."

As if that's an option around here. Any Colt, should expect to look after someone or something at some point in time. "Yes, ma'am," I say for us, seizing the day and winning us some free time.

"Can you say bye-bye, baby?" she says to little Dal.

"Bye-bye Mycle. Bye-bye, Dean."

We both say bye and Michael's left staring after him. "Wait just a tick…you like the kid," I accuse.

"Do not. What do we do around here other than babysit?"

I'm staring at him suspiciously. That was more than just the usual Michael slough off. I don't get to think on it longer, or respond; Daddy comes around the corner from the kitchen. He's on the phone, his cell phone and it's easy to guess with who, just from his demeanor alone. "I did have it on me, Cassy. I was busy and didn't feel it. You know I'd never ignore your calls on purpose."

I can just hear Papa's displeased response (because this is old ground for them) of: you're lucky our son's system is attuned to the sound and vibration of his cell phone.

Though Michael would disagree. I don't answer my cell enough for him, but in my defense, he calls me more than most people call anyone. "I didn't mean to worry you, Cassy." Pause. "Yes, sir."

Michael and I look at each other and decide wordlessly it's time for us to leave the room—they need their privacy—but Daddy holds up a finger to us, signaling that we should stay put.

My parents talk a few more minutes, 'till Daddy looks suitably chastised, then, "I'll tell him. Love you Cassy."

Some of Daddy's strict 'Captain of the ship' demeanor has seeped away, like air from a balloon. "Michael, you need to call Cas."

That's the second time Papa's got someone to pass along that message. Michael better call before Papa calls him.

"Need to? What for? I didn't do anything." Gotta admit, the childish part of me thinks it's pretty funny to see Michael flipping out over my father wanting him to call.

"Because he said so," Daddy says like that's a given, because it is.

"He says to and everyone jumps?" Michael's a bit hysterical.

Daddy looks at him funny. "What the heck's a matter with you? You have actually been here the last twenty-five years, haven't you?"

"He knows, he's just scared Daddy." I smirk at Michael, he scowls.

"You two have no idea…" he begins, but then thinks better of it. "I'm not scared."

"Yeah you are."

"Am not."

"What did I tell you two about behaving?" Daddy says.

"We are Daddy."

"Last warning." He gives us his stern, he's not kidding around look.

"Yes, sir," we both say as he heads back into the kitchen.

"Least he didn't give us a job," I point out. Michael and I both laugh.

"Yes, but we still can't fornicate anywhere, our favorite past time has been banned, we might as well have been given a job."

I shake my head. "Come with me, Michael. I'll show you where the Colt youths hang out. They're a good time."


"You're too young to hang with us big kids Ansel. I keep tellin' yah," Anderson is saying to Auntie Caroline's eldest Ansel and her younger brother Thomas as we walk in. Thomas stays quiet, but not Ansel.

"Y'all gonna do drugs, or somethin'? That why I can't be here?" she sasses. She's a lot like her mama. Not only is she the world's most beautiful little thing, she's smart and tough like Auntie Caroline. I have no doubt she can talk circles around all of us, even at nine. Anderson should quit while ahead.

"We're not doin' drugs. We came up here to be away from the little kids. That's you."

"Shelly's here," Ansel points out.

"Least Shelly's a teenager."

"What's that got to do with anything?" she says putting her fists on her hips like Auntie Caroline does. "I look after my younger siblings all the time, plus my cousins. I'm big enough to hang out here."

"Knock it off you two, someone's gonna come up here if they hear you fightin'," Aiden says. He's twenty, one of Auntie Bree's kids. "Like maybe Uncle Sam. He'll knock all ya'll's head together."

I laugh on the inside. Everyone's got this big idea that Daddy is some scary, bad ass dude and I guess he can be, sometimes, but compared to Papa, he's a big ol' softy. He'll be pleased to know he reigns on as Colt legend. Not that he wants to be, he just gets a bit of a kick out of it. Even the twenty-year-olds are afraid of him.

"Anderson's got a point Addy," Ricky says to Aiden, his older brother. "We're not doin' anything bad, but it's still grown up type stuff and the whole point of coming up here. Else, why don't we just head back outside with everyone else?"

Rory, his twin (they're both the same age as me) nods. "Sorry, sweetie, but Rick's right."

Gotta admit, I'm not one for excluding anyone and I love Ansel and Thomas to pieces, but it does defeat the purpose coming up here when they're here; we would have to limit our conversation, else get a lecture later when one of them blabs. Little kids are always too excited about knowing what the big kids know to keep quiet about anything—they tend not to understand why parents can't know certain things.

"I know losta big kid stuff. I've already kissed a boy," she admits.

"You what? I oughta spank you Ansel Adelaide," Jesse says. He's older than all of us, twenty-four, but likes to hang with us younger 'kids' sometimes, though he's usually found hanging out with his twin, Beau. Jesse says we're a lot more interesting than the 'grown-ups.' He's one of Auntie Georgia's.

"Ain't that what big kids talk about? Kissing and stuff?" she says.

"Hate to say it sugar pie, but you are a bit young for that talk. I'll take'em back down," Jesse says to us. "C'mon little miss."

"It ain't fair," she complains, but follows Jesse and Thomas out of the room.

"Hey Dean," Anderson says. "Y'all can come in. You don't have to skulk around the door."

Anderson and I share the commonality that we're both moddlers, the only ones in the family. The lack of moddlers isn't because the family didn't want them, but more because Colts mate like rabbits. He's Uncle Jamie and Uncle Eric's son. He's the same age as me now, but he had proper Modlenol, not the fucked with stuff I was given, so he ages normally and will surpass me. Everyone does.

"Y'hear that Michael? We rate as big kids," I say trying to be funny. It's what the Colts like about me. My parents have done a good job giving me balance, so I'm able to fit in with both sides of the family well. I make just as good a Winchester as I do a Colt, but of course, when either parent is put out with me, claims are made that I'm more like the other's side. Michael and I walk deeper into the room. It's just a spare bedroom now, but I remember Daddy telling me it used to be Uncle Jackson's room a long time ago.

Michael doesn't think I'm funny. He doesn't want to be here. Teenagers are the equivalent of dirt on floors to him. He probably wants to Pine-Sol them all and me for getting this close to them.

"Actually, we've been waitin' on you, Dean. We were thinking about driving over to Stix's for a burger and some beers," Anderson says. He's got a friend who works there that will serve us. I've been to Stix's before. I've not really been forbidden going to that place, but last time we went (last year) Daddy had that look in his eye like he suspected it probably wasn't a place he wanted me hanging out, but he didn't say anything because he had no proof otherwise. Stix is fairly new. It wasn't around when he and Papa were kids.

It's not a shady place or anything, looks good from the outside and the inside, but they wouldn't like me drinking in public and would probably have the place shut down if they knew the place was serving minors, with the other Colt adults joining them. At the same time, the Colt's are more liberal that way, when they're all together as family, they don't mind the bigger kids having a beer or two, once in a while, with the belief that it's teaching them responsible drinking, something even Papa concedes to sometimes, but definitely not when they're out in public.

To our merit, them teaching us responsible drinking has had good effect and it's rare one of us drinks to get shitfaced, but it's still against the rules and they'd still be pissed, all the parents, if they found out.

So we make it a point not to get found out.

"Fuck I could use a beer. Couldn't you Michael?" I elbow him. He fucking loves beer and besides, I really want to go. I hope he'll go for me. 'Cause I know if he's not going, neither am I.

He doesn't answer, so I decide to take that as a yes. "Let's go!"

He waits 'till everyone piles out of the room before he says something, keeping me behind. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

I pretend to go though a check list. "Nope. Don't think so."


"I assumed you were coming with."

"From Daddy Winchester, or in the least your uncle Dallas."

"I don't need permission for this. I don't even ask permission at home, so much as let them know where I'm going, as long as I'm back by curfew there won't be a problem. There are even less rules here."

"Not when Daddy Winchester thinks you're fighting a bug. He likes to keep a closer eye on you."

"You guys still coming?" someone calls.

"Yeah," I respond. "C'mon, please Michael?" I give him the Dean eyes. "I'll text him on the way."

No response.

"It'll be fine. You worry too much, Michael. Besides, this'll be perfect. I'll find a place to take care of this," I say grabbing the erection I know I can always count on. I can also always count on Michael to be ruled by his dick. Unless it's something he considers life threatening, then there's no way of swaying him. "It's just burgers and I swear, I'll only have one beer. Besides, I'm really excited to show you around Texas." I lay my eyes on even thicker.

"This is trouble," he says, but he's not stopping me and I'm a bit shocked my wiles worked on him. I mean I was like, eighty-five percent sure they would, but there was that fifteen percent buffer of doubt. "Let's be quick. Maybe we'll make it back before anyone notices our absence. Though I doubt it."

We have to hurry to catch up to the group, but we don't make it. We're spotted by Uncle Dal. "Whoa there half-pint. Where y'all going? We're gonna eat soon."

"With everyone to Stix. I was going to text Daddy on the way." Suddenly, I do feel uneasy about not asking.

"Y'all don't need to go over to Stix. We've got burgers and beer right here." So Uncle Dal does know what's up. "More importantly, this is a family gathering in our honor, Dean Daniel. I can't believe you'd even consider taking off."

"C'mon Uncle Dal. Everyone's going. They'll be plenty of dinners for us while we're here. Is this because I didn't ask? I'll ask Daddy then, but I'm sure he'll be fine with it."

"Your daddy's busy Dean. This is a call I can make. You're not going, Sur."

"What? But everyone else is going."

"You've already pointed that out, but you don't have to worry, they're not going. I'm wrangling them back too."

"Aw, c'mon Uncle Dal. Don't do that. Why are you being so strict? I don't want to be the uncool one who got their fun ruined."

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes like Daddy. "Lordy Bee. You teenagers and your reputations. I promise you, the only thing that's about to be uncool is your backside. I'm not impressed half-pint. Not at all."

I look at my feet. It takes a lot for Uncle Dal to be unimpressed.

"And you Michael, you were party to this fiasco? You should have stopped him."

"Well I—"

"It's my fault Uncle Dal." Michael scowls at me for cutting him off. "He was the voice of reason, I coerced him."

"Michael has every means to stop you—he let himself be mesmerized by the Dean eyes. Not really sure what to do with you Michael. You need to call Cas anyway, tell him what happened and see what he says. He'll know better than I in this situation."

Michael looks horrified. For an angel, that's something. "Yes, sir."

"Dean, go to your room. We're having a chat, soon as I 'round up the rest of y'all goofy teens."

I kick the ground. "Yes, Uncle Dal."


If I live through this, I'm going to kill Dean. I go back to the room I had Dallas Jr. in, shut the door and dial Papa Winchester. Why the fuck are my hands shaking? He's just a human.

Maybe because I know that of anyone, he's the one who can actually take Dean away from me at anytime.

He answers right away, as if he'd been sitting there, waiting for me to call. "Hello Michael," he says in that voice of his, the one that implies how much he'd like to eviscerate me my vessel. It's bad enough when there's no reason for him to want to kill me, but this time, I have something to hand him on a silver platter.

"I was told to call you. Is this a bad time? I'm happy to call later, sir."

"Now is fine, though I would have appreciated you calling me as soon as you were told to."

I don't bother giving excuses as to why I didn't. Besides, I don't have any and you're terrifying, wouldn't likely be accepted by him.

"I'm sorry, sir."

I don't get a 'you're forgiven' like Dean does. "Moving on; Dean needs a spanking. I can tell he's out of sorts, since I can't do it, you're my first choice in this particular instance, but if you feel uncomfortable in Nana Colt's home, I'll get Dallas or Sam to do it."

What? I couldn't have heard him right. I think I'm having what humans call a heart attack. I'm his first choice and he's giving me permission, no, he's ordering me to spank Dean? For a moment, I feel like I've made it. I've spent twenty-five years trying to earn his respect, this is the first time, ever, that I'm getting somewhere and now I've got to tell him how I've fucked it all up.


"I'm here, sir, I…Dallas is spanking him now, I…" I launch into my story, the one of my colossal Top failure, practically hyperventilating by the end of it. I don't apologize. I've already made other mistakes with Dean I've apologized for. Castiel hates hearing apologies over the same thing over and over. He says my apologies are wasted on him and should be for Dean, because it's Dean who suffers when I'm negligent. I whole heartedly agree.

I get as expected. "I'm disappointed to say the least, but I think you know that."

"Yes. I knew you would be, sir."

"If you knew, then why do it? I'm allowing you to look after my son in a very special way. You have responsibility to him, you can't fuck up like this Michael. He loves you, that's why I allow this; you're certainly not my choice. Never-the-less, if after all my tutelage, it still isn't enough, I won't allow this further. You know Dean won't continue to see you in this capacity without my approval."

I didn't used to think so, but I've come to learn the truth of that statement. Dean won't. The bond he has with his parents is unlike any I've ever seen in all my time. Sure he gets upset with them at times (which practically kills him), sure they've had fights (in which I have to console him for days after), but none of that affects their profound bond. If Castiel tells Dean and Sam he doesn't approve of me, I'm out as Dean's significant other.

I'm fairly certain I've at minimum secured a spot in their home, permanently, but not as Dean's husband. Dean won't marry me if his father says no. It's just the way it is. I have to win over Castiel Winchester, or my 'plans' won't matter.

"Do we understand each other, Michael?"

"I can do better, sir. I will. I swear." Fuck. Fuck. I'm fucking crying. Damn human emotions. I've been too long without all my grace. I really am turning human. This is bad, really bad. All Papa Winchester's going to see, is a weak fucking, crying angel that can't properly care for his son.

There's silence on the other end for several of my vessel's heartbeats, then the sound of a palm slapping wood hard on the other end. "You're not usually soft like this Michael. What the hell's going on with you?"

I'm not allowed to hide anything from him. I've agreed to full exposure for our topversations. Excluding of course, things to do with my father that I really can't speak of. This is not something he'd allow me to hide. "A couple things."

"Out with it. I don't have all day."

"The plane. I don't know why, but I've been feeling especially out of sorts since after that. It didn't start there, but that's part of it."

"You didn't help Dean. Sam did. You don't feel like his top."

"But we've already talked about that and I understand; sometimes Dean will need someone other than me. I'm okay with that Mr. Winchester, sir."

"Consciously, you're okay with it and can understand the logic, but there's a deeper need, a deeper part of your psyche isn't. You two need to re-establish your roles, that's all. I suggest you spank him anyway, even if he's already being spanked by Dallas."

"Yes, sir." I was feeling that, but I wasn't sure. He hadn't really broken any rules, but I did sense we needed to re-establish our roles. I'm secretly proud of myself for that much.

"What else? You said there was something even before the plane."

This is the one I really don't want to tell him. I take a deep human breath. "Since I knew about the trip, I've been looking forward to…not being an asshole to him. My father doesn't have as many eyes here, there's more opportunity to—"

"Let him do what he wants?"

"Not exactly, I'd never allow him to put himself in danger." Ergo, I wasn't planning on allowing him to go anywhere without me, but I saw no reason for him not to do whatever he wanted, so long as I was there to ensure he was safe.

"Dean doesn't work that way Michael. You know that. He craves structure, he doesn't do well without it, even Dean's well aware. If you can't give that to him, twenty-four-seven, this won't work Michael. And as I've been trying to drill through your thick angel skull, there's a difference between being a strict disciplinarian and being an asshole. My son knows the difference. It would never work for you anyway, Michael. From one top personality to another, you need the control, you need the structure too. Sam and I have been down the road of denying who we are. It doesn't work and leads to more heartache."

"Yes, sir." I'm still fucking sniffling. I can't stop, it's ridiculous. Aside from my snivelling, I know Papa Winchester is right. I'm an angel and angels are extremely territorial. Many things would be terrible for Dean and I, if we didn't have the structure we're currently building. I just want him to love me better than that ridiculously good looking football player who shall not be named. This is my only opportunity to bribe him.

"In fact, the strict disciplinarian side, is about the only thing you do right for him. Don't fuck it up, Michael." He's breathing hard now; he has to take a couple more breaths to calm down. "I suppose another way to say that is, well done, son."

I'm cleaning out my ears after this. They can't be working right. "Thank you sir. I don't deserve it, but thank you."

"Loving him and not being an asshole, doesn't mean letting him have his way, he needs rules. Otherwise, Dean must think I hate him."

I know that's not true. Dean's never doubted how much his parents love him. "Yes, sir." I wish I could stop fucking sniffling, at least 'till this conversation's over, but doesn't look like there's any hope of that.

Papa Winchester huffs. "Perhaps I'm still thinking of you as you used to be. My son has been much happier of late. You've still got much to learn, but it's clear you're keen to work on the areas in which you need to improve."

"I really am, sir. He means a great deal to me."

"I know, Michael. You wouldn't be here otherwise. I've got to go. I have another meeting to head into."

"Yes, sir, but sir? Don't I need to be punished?"

"That's not the way it works, Michael. Not unless you and Dean marry. I've only requested and gained your permission to punish you if you skip Sunday dinner without good reason. You've extended your permission in a few other instances as well, but not for this."

That's how I know I'm still an outsider to Papa Winchester. Daddy Winchester has no problems sending me to sit on a set of stairs, like I'm…well like I'm his own. With Castiel, I'm the pain-in-the-ass angel his son decided to fall in love with, who he puts up with. I know how my human family works, not disciplining me is the equivalent of not giving me the time of day. "I give my permission, sir. I'll do as you say."

"I think we can both safely say you'll punish yourself amply after this discussion."

He's right, of course he's right. Annoyingly, the man is almost always right, but I can't help feeling, disappointed. "Yes, sir."

"I want you to call me tomorrow evening."

That makes me feel a bit better; perhaps that's my punishment. "Yes, sir."


Uncle Dal finally knocks on my door, entering when I give him the okay. "Uncle Dal, I'm sorry," I say soon as he walks in.

"I know half-pint. I forgive you. I'm not mad."

Yeah, just fucking disappointed, which is worse. "It was dumb to think we could leave tonight when the family gathering is a little more 'special' than usual. I hope you told those goofy teens good, Uncle Dal."

That works as planned; he smiles warmly. "I did and now I'm gonna tell you. Drop your drawers, Sur."

"Hey! Why am I the only one getting spanked?"

"Easy. Because I love you the most."

"You know Uncle Dal, you're supposed to love all your nieces and nephews equally."

"That so? Someone should sue me then, 'cause I don't. I love you more half-pint. Sorry, just the way it is."

"I'll tell them," I threaten. "I'll tell them you love me best."

"Then I'll tell'em you're just sore over me tanning your hide and makin' stuff up," he smiles.

"Man. This isn't fair, Uncle Dal."

"C'mon half-pint. You need this anyway. I'm just killing two birds with one stone. I was gonna give you a spanking when you woke up, I should have done, but I was giving Michael the chance."

"Sounds good to me, Uncle Dal. I swear I'll get Michael to do it." Uncle Dal spanks hard. He's real gentle, until he thinks you're in need of discipline, then he does a thorough job. Not that Michael spankings are any less thorough, but he's not in front of me right now, I'll worry about arguing my way out of that one later.

"Nope. Ship, sailed. I'm doing it."

"Fine," I sass. "But this is stupid and unfair, Uncle Dal."

"Noted. You know Dean, I'm sure I can use all this time you're spending stalling to find myself one of Nana's sturdy wooden spoons, especially if you wanna keep giving me attitude like that."

Nope. No. Don't want him to find one of those. In short order, I drop my shorts, but leave my boxers. There's always the off chance he'll leave them. He sits on the bed. "Those too, hurry up."

I said off chance. Uncle Dal isn't the same every time. I kinda know what to expect from Daddy and Papa, but Uncle Dal, in true Uncle Dal style, goes with the flow. Until you're over his knee that is. Then it's sure, hard spanks and you wish he'd let up for just a fucking second.

I lose the boxers and he guides me carefully over his lap. When I instantly feel secure, I know he was right; I do need this. The tops in my family always seem to know. Always fucking know. Didn't Michael? I mean, he mentioned something about spanking me, but didn't follow through, so I thought he was just joking around like he does sometimes.

I start to feel that place inside me calm, even though my bare ass is nervously awaiting a spanking. Then he starts. It's two right, two left, two right, two left. I'm already wincing and grabbing onto the cuff of the leg of his jeans early on. The sting builds to that slightly unbearable point, the point where I get tears. Like clockwork, I also start thinking about the reason I'm here, what earned me this spanking in the first place along with Uncle Dal's disappointment…me letting him down.

Then there's the airplane. All those feelings resurface; the fear and anxiety. All the while, Uncle Dally spanks, knowing he's getting through without words this time and knowing to just leave me with the feelings as he takes care of spanking them all away.

When he's done, even though my ass fucking hurts, I feel like a million bucks. Most days, I couldn't tell you why spanking works for me, just that it does. Doesn't mean I don't try to talk my way out of it, which is why I still need someone, reminding me how much I need this.

He helps me fix my clothes as I wipe my eyes. "You know, half-pint, I meant what I said. I know it ain't right, but I do love you best. You're more than just a nephew, you feel like my own, which is why I want you to be the first to know, I'm not marrying Axl."

"You're not?" I can't help fucking smiling.

"Nope. It ain't right. My heart's always really belonged to one person. I love Axl, but your uncle Chris owns my soul. I can't marry Axl while I still feel like that. I plan on talking to Chris like your Papa said to, get closure, then get over him like I should have done before moving onto something like marriage."

It's really hard, but I don't let on about the other proposal coming his way. "Sounds like a good plan Uncle Dal."

"So long as I got you in my life Half-pint, that's more than enough good things for me."

He doesn't even sound sad saying it, he's being honest and while I'm touched, I'm sad for him. He doesn't believe there's anything for him beyond Uncle Chris, which he believes he's not getting. I squeeze him tight. "I love you tons Uncle Dal. You know you're my favorite too right?"

He laughs, hugging me just as tight. "Love you too, Dean. Be a good boy now, y'hear?"

"I will. Promise."

"Yeah, 'till the next time," he teases.

"I gotta keep ya'll on yer toes," I say mimicking his accent, thick as I can. "I've got three of you."

"Yeah," he smiles even wider. "You sure do."

Chapter Text

"Where do you think you're going, half-pint?"

"To find Michael. He wouldn't head outside without me." Where else? Uncle Dal knows well enough by now we're attached at the hip when he's around.

"Did that spanking mean nothing to you? Maybe I shoulda lectured."

Oh it did mean something all right. Sitting is not going to be fun after that spanking. He's gotten way too good at that and I'm sure it's all Uncle Chris's fault. "It did, sir. I'm supposed to be visiting and behaving. Got that. We'll come right out, swear it," I say, trying to be cute, letting some drawl slip in. My accent doesn't go as deep as the rest of my family's can, but I've learned how to do it over the years well enough.

It works. I get a smile. "Go on then. I expect you both in the backyard, promptly."

"Yes, Uncle Dal."

Soon as I'm out of his eyesight, I rub my ass good and head off in search of Michael. I don't have to look far, we nearly collide as I'm about to head down the stairs.

"Dean. Good. Come with me."

"What? We can't. I'm going to get killed. Again. We're supposed to head downstairs."

He pauses, stands taller, reaches to straighten his jacket out of habit, the one that's not there, his hands falter a bit when he realizes he's only in a t-shirt, then drop back to his sides, fists squeeze for half a moment. My heart beats faster, as he rakes over me with cold blue eyes. "Fine, but we have an appointment before bedtime."

An excited rush flows through me. "What?" That sounds like a spanking to me. "I was already spanked, Michael." It's a perfunctory complaint. There's a warm feeling in my belly, saying it's happy Michael's finally being Michael. I've been feeling weird since the plane. Uncle Dal's spanking helped a ton, loathe as I am to admit it, it made me see clearly. At the end of that tunnel was me wondering why Michael hadn't stepped up to the plate. Uncle Dal had expected it too. Clearly Papa knocked some sense into him. To have been a fly on that wall…

"Not by me," he says taking my hand. Some decision is made; it's written on his prominent cheek bones. "Fuck it."

Those are the last two words that have meaning for a while. Michael grabs me by the shirt collar; spin, then slam into the wall. He's aggressive when his lips press to mine, needy, needs me, need him. I kiss back with force, hoping to fuck, everyone is having such a good time outside, they don't come up here. I grab his face, he lifts my legs to wrap around his torso. He slams me a second time, still kissing, one arm holding a leg, the other palm flat against the wall by my ear, pressing me into the wall. My breath quickens, even Michael's panting. "Dean, I… need… you..." Each word trails off, each breathy, staring in my eyes like he's a rock; immovable.

I think we're going to fuck right here. I'm ready to. Don't care. I'll sell my soul for his cock right now.

"See! I knew kissing was grown up stuff!"

Michael and I pull away like we're pythons the other is trying to avoid getting bit by. "What are you doing up here Ansel?" I ask.

"Washroom. All the downstairs are full. I saw you kissing," she sing-songs.

"Fuck, Ansel—"

"Dean said a swear word." More sing-songing.

This is not happening. "Ansel, sweetie…ugh, what do you want for your silence?"

She's well versed in Colt rules. I don't think there's an official 'no kissing in the hallways,' but I'm sure Daddy wouldn't like the way we were just kissing and that's what matters, but there is a firm no cursing rule issued by Nana. "Fifty bucks."

Easy. I pull out my wallet. "I thought you'd say you'd want to hang out with the big kids."

"Over cold hard cash? Y'all aren't that worth hanging with. Allowance is hard to come by when you're nine, I want a new bike."

I slap a fifty in her hand and she scampers off to the little girl's room. "Fucking con-artist," I say to Michael.

"No, no. I like her. Nothing wrong with being resourceful." He would. He's entertained that I had to pay off a nine-year-old to stay out of trouble.

I'm still a bit dazed by that kiss, even with having to think fast and bribe my little cousin. Michael has to grab my hand and tug to start me down the stairs. I touch my lips as we move, still hot from his kiss. "What was that for?"

"If you don't know, maybe you should get your money back," he smirks.


Michael slips on a pair of comfortable looking sandals as I'm about to slide into my sticky runners. "Hey! If you're wearing those, so am I."

"You can shelve that idea, forever. No. Besides, I don't trip in them."

"You don't wear sandals often enough to know," I say even thought I know it's true. He's an angel. Practically perfect in everyway.

"I would prefer my shoes, but Nana Colt told me to wear these. I'm merely being respectful."

Hmmm. He's right. If she did give him those, she'll wonder why he's not wearing them and I'm able to see the humor in Michael wearing sandals even though I know he's not going to afford me the same luxury, too concerned about my safety. I laugh at him.

"Be quiet about it and you may go barefoot."

"Really?" I love not wearing shoes. It's a pretty big concession for Michael with his OCD over me getting dirty.

"Really." He smiles at my smile.

"Shutting up, sir." I ditch my runners.

The Colt backyard is booming. People are happy to see us, even the cool teen crowd, despite me being the catalyst that axed their event. They told me they should have expected it. They're used to this kind of thing all the time, so it's normally not a big deal for them to leave. Today's special.

In the end, I'm glad I didn't miss dinner. Nana's special recipe BBQ ribs are on the menu, along with her cornbread. You never want to miss that. No beer though. I know Daddy's got his eye on me, no matter how many babies he's holding; there's only one 'baby' he's most concerned with.

Michael has a beer though. That's normal. What's not normal is what's on the back of my neck: his hand. In fact, he's made sure to have a hand touching me somewhere the whole time. Right now though, it's heavy on the back of my neck, as we sit on a picnic bench with some of my cousins. It's down right possessive, which is strange for two reasons. We are among my family (no need to mark his territory here) and two, he doesn't do stuff like that. When I was little, we held hands a lot Daddy said, but it was like, you know, crossing the street and stuff, I think. Like a caretaker.

This is nothing like that. Mine. That's what the gesture says. I’m freaked out and calmed at the same time. I love it. At last. The feel of being his. But I'm not his, not in the way I'd like to be. I pretend again, like before. What if this could be? and relax into his firmness. I smile and mold to him, like Daddy would to Papa and let go.

His hand slides down to the small of my back and Michael brings his head in for a chaste, family-barbeque-appropriate, kiss to my lips; we eat messy ribs. Well, I eat messy ribs, while Michael picks at his trying not to get dirty and using a knife and fork rather than just his hands like me.

"So Dean, you started to think about college yet?" Sammy junior, junior. asks, blinking hard hazel eyes at me. Sammy is Auntie Georgia's first born and was given the family name with Daddy's permission. Twenty-nine. Actually, he's first born grandchild on the Colt side and has earned the honor of his namesake, most especially in the case of Daddy. In a family this large, everyone's expected to help out. Being at the top of the chain, you end up helping more than young'ens like me ever have, though I certainly do my share while I'm here. He's a lot like Daddy and feels more like an Uncle than a cousin. He's a bit edgier than Daddy, especially with the messier way he keeps his long hair. Makes you want to call him, sir. 'Cept, he's a lot more Coltish than Daddy. I think it's because Daddy had a true care taking role, he genuinely was in charge. Sammy was often 'in charge' of us, but plenty of other adults were around to help him.

The question's a bit like being dunked into cold water. In a house like mine, of course it's been talked about, but it's always felt like something far away, like when a grownup asks you, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" and you answer with 'Space Cowboy,' right away thinking you've got plenty of time to change that to Optimus Prime if you want to. But the way Sammy asks, it's like it's going to happen tomorrow. I fumble. "Uh, yes, sir."

He laughs like Uncle Dal and Granddaddy, amused. "No need to skitter like a rabbit. I'm just askin'."

Michael feels hard beside me. He's been there for the talks, but he usually doesn't have a lot to say on the matter. Especially since Papa dominates that conversation. Daddy is supportive, but I don't think he likes the thought either. "Papa wants me to go to College, but he said I could pick the school, uh, with his approval."

"You sound reeeal excited," he drawls.

Fuck. I don't want to leave home, okay? But I can't say that to people. How much of a wimp would I sound like? I'm supposed to look forward to getting drunk in my dorm. "It's a ways a way, Sammy. That's all."

"Don't you graduate next year?"

"Yeah, but it's not like they're gonna let a kid into college." Actually, I know I'm not so far off 'college age,' I'm sure I'm admissible, but I wish I weren't.

"Doogie Howser went to college early," Michael points out sarcastically.

It makes me laugh, which was the point. "I'm sure they love it when people reference that fictional character during admissions."

Sammy's analyzing me in a way I'm used to. He's dead ringer for Daddy mixed with Uncle Dal, another Granddaddy type look-a-like to add to the mix. The Colt genes runs strong. "You don't think you're gonna pass and be told you're eighteen."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "No."

"You hope you don't pass."

Another non-question. "I… well that is…"

"Don't worry, cuz, your secret's safe with me."

Yeah, but not with Michael. "Thanks," I say. He didn't mean to hit a sore spot, it's a normal enough question. I'm sure other kids are apprehensive about going to college and I’m sure I'll be excited when the time comes. Super sure.

"In other news…" He continues on to tell me all the Colt cousin gossip. It's interesting how the Colt hierarchy works, so different from the Winchester Way. Best way I have to explain it, is like this. If we were in a nineteen fifties novel, and headed down to the creek to do something a bit wild, Sammy would be the one to warn us it was a bad idea, put a stop on our tom-foolery if it was really bad, or opt to come along if it was only mid-level bad, carrying the littlest one and fish us out of trouble when it inevitably happened.

The gossip isn't too juicy this year and I'm not allowed to say a word about Uncle Dal, but… "My uncle Chris is gonna ask Uncle Dal to marry him." I know he'll keep that kind of info just between the cousins, we have a code.

Michael looks like he wants to pulverize me. "That so? Well it's about time." I tell him a few of the details, the ones that won't get me into too much trouble. We chat a bit more, until he moves off to find another beer.

"What the fuck was that?" Michael hisses when he's gone.

"Don't worry. It's Colt code. It'll just stay between the cousins. Believe me, there are still some things we never want the adults finding out." And I told Michael that why?

I didn't think it was possible for his eyes to go that shade of midnight blue. "It's just as I've always suspected. Colt insanity. Well, they'll be none of that on my watch."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, Michael. Jeez. But could you just trust me a little with my family?"

"I trust you with no one."

I nudge him. "I'm not going to do anything dangerous. It's all harmless fun. Besides, this year I have my fearless protector."

"Flattery doesn't work here. You aren't going to do anything dangerous, believe me. I have nothing better to do while I'm here, other than watch your every move."

"You're gonna watch my every move, huh?" I say hooding my eyes, my breath quickening. We need to have sex before I explode.

I pull away from Michael when Daddy sits down. He's got little June or May with him. It's hard to tell which. "How you feeling Dean Bean?"

"I'm good Daddy. Inhaled at least ten ribs." Sometimes he gages how well I am on how much I eat. "Planning on seconds and thirds."

"Okay, just take it easy. And Michael, make sure he eats something with green in it, please. You can't just eat ribs and cornbread, Sur." He bounces and coos at the baby.

"Yes, sir," Michael says.

"Aren't you gonna eat, Daddy?"

"What? Oh yeah sure. Just visiting a bit first."

Little seven-year-old Thomas, runs up to Daddy. He's a thin, wirey little guy with dusty blonde hair and much less gull than his older sister, Ansel. "Uncle Sammy! Uncle Sammy! Can you come watch my trick?" Everyone loves 'Uncle Sammy.' Apparently, I used to get jealous.

He grabs Daddy by the hand. "Of course I can. Dean," he says meaning he's got an eye on me, but who has their eye on Daddy?

"He's not going to eat is he?" I say to Michael.

"Not likely."

"I'm almost done here. I'll go make him a plate, you snatch the baby?"

Michael wrinkles his nose. "I'll get him the plate, you grab the baby. That one spits up."


We feed Daddy Winchester. Dean takes the baby and like most babies, she's bored in one spot and he has to walk around with her. He bounces off with her and I'm alone with Daddy Winchester, just as I'd hoped.

"Something on your mind, Michael?"

Where do I begin? "Yes, sir. I spoke with Mr. Winchester."

"What did Papa say?"

I feel the cheeks of my vessel blush. I know that was likely a slip up and not intended how it sounded. That's how he'd phrase the question to Dean. "You'll forgive me Mr. Winchester, this topic is, well it's uncomfortable to talk about with…"

"With a Daddy?" he teases. I blush further.

"With a parental figure, yes." I look down at my sandaled feet. Dean's kept his promise not to say anything, but every now and again, he looks at them, smirking then has to look away.

"Never-the-less, we must both get through it. C'mon, Sur."

I'm grabbed by the scruff of my neck, like a kitten; he drags me to the kitchen where there are far too many people, so we have to carry on to the vacated living room. "Sit, there," he says directing me to a chair.

I sit in the leather lazy boy, while he sits on the low couch and mimics what I imagine a giraffe would if one had walked into the living room to take a seat. His knees have to bend greater than ninety degrees, sharpening the creases of his jeans. He settles in with the plate of food I brought for him. "You talk, I'll eat, since you and Dean have taken it upon yourselves to feed me," he smiles, fondly entertained.

I wait 'till he takes a messy bite, before I begin. "I spoke with Mr. Winchester and he seems to think Dean and I need to… re-establish our connection."

"Dean needs a spanking? That's what you were worried over talking to me about? It's not like that's breaking news."

This was a mistake. "I'm glad we had this chat then." I move to stand.

"Sit your angel but back down. I'm not making fun, I was trying to put you at ease—clearly you're skittish, skittish as a bunny. Start talkin'."

Holy fuck, there really is two of him. Many of the Colts look alike. They've all got the strong genes of their parents running through. Jared from the terror twins, looks quite a bit like Sam for instance, but they're different. Jared is far more laid back. But Sammy the third, he's like Sam the second. A lot like Sam the second. A more rugged version, but it was curious to watch how many of Sam the second's (Granddaddy Colt being Samuel the first) mannerisms, Sam the third has. "But, can I really haul him over my knee in the middle of your parent's house?"

"I think Dean would appreciate it if you did that behind closed doors, but you shouldn't encounter any problems, if that's what you're worried about." He gives me a cheeky wink.

"You know what I mean."

"Yes I do, but it's not often I get to tease you. Okay, I'll be serious. This is a spanking house too, Michael. Not in the same way Cas and I are, but everyone here's had the taste of a good hiding for one reason or another."

"But I'm his—" Pause. "I'm not a parental figure."

"Mama was gonna put you two in the same room until I told her no."

To have been a fly on the wall when Papa Winchester found that out… I can't help my half-smile. "She's so Christian though."

"Oh sure. Mama praises the good Lord and won't take his name in vain; heaven help you if you do on her watch, but her and Daddy are liberal in their views. It's a bit complicated, I guess, Cas has a hard time figuring out the logistics of her and Daddy's 'rules,' but let's just say you and Dean don't have anything to worry about from her and Daddy. But for your information, Mama would be keeping a personal eye on Brad."

He raises his eyebrows like it should make sense, but it makes no fucking sense. The only thing that does make sense is that it's so like a Colt to not make any sense. "Then why don't you want us…" I trail off, expecting him to fill in the blanks. I feel uncomfortable enough in this conversation. I'm not using the word sex.

"That's my and Cas's rule. Perhaps even a bit more my rule. In my opinion, he's too young to be having sex in their house."

"What? But why should you care if your parents don't? Shouldn't you have the same rules as your parents?"

"Well sure, some. The ones we agree with. If you have kids, are you gonna use all your father's rules?" His voice is gentle, he knows that's a hard topic, one only reserved for particular times, but his eyes are hard. He knows my answer, but he's also driving a point home.

"I understand, sir. Your rules differ from your parent's."

"And yours and Dean's will differ from ours. That's how it goes Michael. Often families will carry core values down generation to generation, but the rules always change. Each person's view on teaching that value will vary and it depends on the child too. My rule is based on Dean specifically. He could do to learn a little respect in that area Michael. I'm seizing a learning opportunity."

This is the most bizarre conversation I've ever had with the man and we've had many bizarre conversations. "Just to clarify, I can spank Dean?"

"Yes, but it was right of you to ask me. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sounds like Cas already gave you his permission, but we haven't had time to talk about it. That's something I want to know, so it's good you gave me the head's up. Otherwise, I might think you're—"

"Okay. Okay. Can this conversation please be over?" He's entirely too comfortable discussing such matters.

"Over. Was it helpful?"


"No regrets then. Spank my son when you see fit; the spanking is necessary. The sex is not—you can masturbate. I catch you having sex, I'll castrate you both. Understand?"

I not sure he means that for just here. Dean and I have been a little too lax in that tree house of his. "I understand, sir." Except I don't. Okay, conversation not over. "Actually, I don't. I understand the whole respect for elders thing, but I don't understand why sex is disrespectful. I was under the impression it was normal for humans, especially teenage male humans."

He heaves a huge sigh. "It must seem that way to an angel, but isn't there something more you feel when you're having sex with my son?"

I'm frozen. There's no way I'm fucking answering that.

"Calm down, Sugar. I know you're having sex with my horny, teenage son."

He's still not getting an answer from me. Of course there are things I feel with Dean and no one else, but I'm not sharing.

"I know you feel something when you—"

"I do, okay? I do. I don't like thinking about what I feel if you want the truth," I snap then remember myself. "I'm sorry Mr. Winchester, that was out of line."

"It's okay Michael. I'm honestly glad sex with my son inspires that kind of passion; makes me feel better about the whole thing. But why don't you like thinking about it?"

Again, I can't answer him. How does he expect me to have a conversation with him about fucking his son? Right. That's because they're (the both of them) ridiculously open about this stuff.

He taps his sandaled foot on the ground deciphering it for himself. "Lordy Bee, Michael. Don't tell me I have another Castiel Winchester on my hands, because let me tell you, I straightened him out and I will you too, only now I know what I'm doing."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry, this is gonna make you real uncomfortable, Sur, but I'm saying it. The biggest challenge in our relationship was Cas's inability to accept who he is. He's controlling, he's possessive, he likes telling me what to do."

Angels don't fiddle, but I'm fiddling with the hem of my soft t-shirt.

"Our rules don't just make me feel safe, they make him feel safe too. We love our relationship, want it, but 'society' doesn't approve. We're all told, be who we are inside, do what makes you happy, but the qualifier is, so long as it's not the behaviors the 'mysterious we' has gotten together and decided to ban. Has decided are always wrong. By Cas's very nature, society would cast him aside as an abusive so and so. I hate that Michael. I hate it so much. Because facts are the facts. He's possessive and controlling, that's just him. Always has been and I hope always will be. He left me once because he knew who he was and stupidly thought he was protecting me in leaving me. Society says he's bad and wrong, better he just stays away from me, so he did. It practically ruined me Michael. I'm not letting you do that do Dean. You just get comfortable with the feelings you have, the possessive ones I know you have for my son, because you're not leaving him Michael."

"We share a profound bond. I couldn't leave him if I wanted to and I don't. You'll be pleased to know I'm too selfish to leave Dean. Besides, then he'd simply be in the hands of mere humans, as if I'd allow that."

He calms down and smiles. What happened between him and Papa Winchester must have really cut him deeply. "Well get used to what you feel for him. I'll know if you're not doing right by him—leave that to me if you're doubtful. It's been twenty-five years and I haven't seen it yet. Sure you two have had your challenges, but it's never been anything unfixable. And do you think Cas would let you near him if he thought you were abusing Dean?"

"No, sir." That does ease my ever expanding human conscious some; he notices and takes it a bit further. Especially since the angel in me is often uncontrollable, relentless, in what it would like to exact from my relationship with Dean.

"I also have it on good authority that Cas doesn't like a certain, perfect football player."

"What? He doesn't get critiqued every five seconds and Mr. Winchester is always so bloody nice to him." I want to pulverize that giant meathead.

"Excuse me, Sur?"

"Sorry about my language, but it isn't fair." Great. Now I sound like a sulky teen.

"Brad is not what Cas is looking for, for Dean. But he is spending an awful lot of time with you, don't you think?"

"Too much if you ask me."

Daddy Winchester laughs. "Face it, honey, y'all are two peas in a pod. That's why you butt heads. That and you might take his little boy away from him one day."

He says that like he knows something, which frightens me. If he can figure me out then so can my father. "You know that can never happen," I say firmly.

"Aw sweetie, it all ready has happened."

Has it?

"We're far away from Kansas, to summarize, Dean wants to make adult decisions, but he isn't an adult yet. Having sex at your nan's house is entirely too grown up. If you don't get it put like that, I'm going to have to resort to the 'you'll understand if you become a parent' line. I'm just trying to be a good parent, teach him good life lessons and values."

"You are a good parent, sir. Dean has learned much from you both, he's said so. I know he's appreciative."

"And maybe you too?"

"And maybe me too." I give a shy smile that could be considered fond.

He beams. "I don't know how appreciative my son's gonna be after four weeks, not having his usual places to hide and have sex. Like your apartment for instance."

I can't look at him. Can't look at him. I stare at the bare toes of my feet.

"But where there's a will there's a way and my son definitely has will. Just don't let me catch you, and don't do it here, or I'm spanking you both."

I look up just in time to see him wink. I think… I think… Daddy Winchester manipulated this. Dean's going to be so focused on trying to have sex with me, due to the tighter reigns on where he can have sex, he'll forget about having sex with anyone else…like Brad for instance, once again demonstrating his vote for Team Michael and Dean. "Papa Winchester won't even punish me when I want him to." I don't mean to say it.

"That's because Cas is too Winchester, strictly adhering to Winchester protocol. I'm part Colt—we have no such restrictions. Cross us and pay the price." He takes the final bite of his messy ribs. I like the taste of those things, but I hate watching people eat them. Especially Dean. I wish I could bib him when he does.

I know the truth of the last part of what he's said, but I still don't know if the first part applies. I did give him my permission. I know Winchester protocol. It's the Colt protocol I find harder to understand. I don't know that they have one, exactly. If they do, it's in a language only they can understand.

Daddy Winchester's studying me, his eyes pop wide. "Did you give him your permission?"

How did he figure that out? "Well, many times I thought. It's not like he's ever had a problem telling me what to do. I've always obeyed him to the letter anyway." The last bit might be an exaggeration. I can already bring to mind a few times we've argued and I've been sent home, thus having to endure the humiliation of groveling so he'll let me back in the house.

Daddy Winchester raises his brow, likely remembering too, but he lets it go more concerned about my admission. "That was a mistake Michael. You should have talked to me first. And no, you haven't. Not verbally, or in a manner straight forward enough for Cas." He shakes his head. "That's a big chess move in Winchesterland. A big one. Normally that happens after marriage, but Cas is operating under the parameters of the relationship you and Dean defined for him."

A concession, I'm only just beginning to grasp the magnitude of.

"If I know Cas, and I do, he'll move ahead. Congratulations Michael. You've taken the next step to becoming Winchester. I hope you're ready to handle that. He's going to be hard on you."

Fuck. "He already is hard on me."

"Naw. That was Cas holding back."

Fuck. Fuck me. "I'll take it back then." I can't even hide the panic in my voice.

"Of course you can, but understand what that will mean."

I know enough to figure that out. It's the fastest way to discredit myself. "What do I do?"

"Don't fudge up."

"That's it? That's all you have for me, you're supposed to be the supportive one."

He laughs and sets his empty plate down on the coffee table, reaching for a few Kleenexes to wipe his hands with. I hope he plans on washing them too. That's when Dean bursts through the door with his baby cousin. Because he's walking in backward, so he can swing open the Kitchen's saloon door with his ass, he only sees me in the room and starts talking before he sees his Daddy. "Jeez, there you are Michael. I said feed him, not take a break from the may-h-hey Daddy!"

"It's okay Dean bean. Soon as I saw Michael with a plate, I knew it had you written all over it. And y'all say I'm the Mama hen."

"Someone has to look after you while Papa's away."

"Thanks baby boy," he says getting up, bringing his plate with him. "I'm going to go wash my hands," he says to me.


"You two okay with her?"

"We're fine Daddy. Go. I'm pretty sure Michael said he wanted a turn."

Sam leaves just as Dean shoves the baby at me and she promptly spits up on the shirt I was given. He then hands me the receiving blanket he should have given me in the first place. I glare at him. "I thought it was only newborns with such a capacity for vomit."

"What do you know about newborns?"


He shakes his head. "She's got a not so nice tummy. Don't you June bug?"

I roll my eyes at the nickname. He laughs.

"I'm gunna go to take a leak and rub something on my ass. Uncle Dal spanks like forest fire."

"You'd better add extra. I've still got to have my turn later."

I expect him to complain, considering his response earlier, but he doesn't. He smiles dreamily. "No witty rejoinder?" I ask.

He blushes. "I…I want you to Michael. Well, I mean I don't actually want a spanking, that's the weird part, but I want you to all the same. I just… don't always know how to ask. I thought…" he heaves a relaxed sigh. "I thought you forgot about me."

"Forgot about you? That's absurd."

"I know it is. It's like saying you forgot you lived on Earth, but that's how it felt. I was wondering why Uncle Dal was taking your place."

I'm stunned as he kisses me. He's not making any sense. "I'm likely to kick and whine later, but right now I'm just happy to hear it for some reason."

Papa Winchester was right. Again.

"What were you and Daddy talking about?"


"Ew. With Daddy?"

"It was awful. He made me."

"Ugh, I'm sorry. But to have been a fly on the wall… What did he, uh, say?"

"He was issuing another reminder, that if he catches us having sex in this house, we'll both have an appointment with whoever does castrations."

Dean shudders. "Fuck that sucks. My balls are blue, Michael. I'm not going to last much longer."

"Guess we'll have to get creative."

"Oh, I like that. Might be more fun."

I decide to tell him something else too. I hope he'll get its meaning. "I gave your father permission to punish me, as he would any other member of the family when I spoke with him earlier."

"Yeah, I know. You've done that a few times now."

"That's what I thought too, but I've been corrected. Those were for specific things. This is different."

He laughs at me. "That was dumb dude. He's going to smoosh you into potions ingredients."

He still doesn't get it. I give up. "You do not get to make Harry Potter jokes," I say rearranging June. "Not after your commentary during the last movie."

"Are you ever going to let that go?"

"Go pee, Winchester."

"I'll take that as a no," he says heading toward the stairs.

"Wait. Come back here."

Uncharacteristically obedient, he does. "Yeah?"

He stares with big green eyes. My whole world is in those green eyes. I pull him in gently by the back of his neck for a soft, claiming kiss. "Not fair," he says when we part. "You got that one for free."

Outwardly, I laugh with him at our new inside joke, but inside I think, If only he knew how much I pay for every moment I'm with him. It's worth it though. Completely worth it.

Chapter Text

"Okay, time to come with me, Sur. Bedtime."

Bedtime? Bedtime? Are you out of your freaking mind, Daddy? That's what I want to say, but with the look he's giving me, I know he's on a mission not to be dissuaded. Plus, he's got his accomplices, Uncle Dal and Michael. I'm ganged up on. So not fair.

Uncle Dal's carrying a bowl of something, Michael's got a First Aid Kit and Daddy's got a steaming ceramic mug—there could be any one of Dr. Shaggy's remedies in there. The party's still going. Those with smaller kids left hours ago, but that doesn't make much of a dent in the Colts. I was finally catching up with the 'big kids,' but Daddy's ended that along with my reputation, I'm sure.

"You'd better go with him," Ricky whispers as if Daddy can't hear. "He's freakin' scary."

"Yeah. Thanks," I say letting Michael help pull me off the floor of the living room. Michael was stolen from me after dinner and passed around like a hot potato; his induction to the Colt family. I was worried about him at first, until I heard rumor he'd already been downstairs, without me. I decided that meant he could fend for himself, besides, I think my cousins have already learned to be leery of Michael, which they should. He'll totally rat us out to adults and if he hears what my cousins really get up to sometimes, I doubt he'll want me near them.

I'm a bit shocked when they bring me to Michael's room. "Sit on the bed there, baby. I want to take your temperature," Daddy says, placing the steaming mug down on the bedside table.

Ridiculous. I’m not sick. I'm not sick. But once again, he determines my temperature to be in the 'bug-fighting-range,' whatever that is. "Okay, Dean. Shirt and pants off. Time for Nan's immune helper poultice."

"Aw Daddy, please, no poultices. They're so sticky and smelly." I complain, but I'm already taking my shirt off, it's a lost cause. Besides, Papa telling me not to give Daddy any trouble is firmly in my mind.

"Thank you." Uncle Dal holds out the bowl, as Daddy starts pasting me. It smells like eucalyptus, mixed with pee.

I know the drill well by now, so I cooperate, sticking my arms out in a 'T,' so he can get my sides, then standing, so he can get my back and finally back to seated for my front. I'm covered in the brown pasty stuff from the top of my chest to my belly button. It looks like Nana took chocolate and mixed it with honey, which would be fine if that's what it was (least it would taste good) but I know it's not. Not sure what this one is, but it's already heating up my skin. "There," Daddy says when he's done. He ushers Michael forward and takes the beginning of a thin, wide strip of white bandage and begins to wrap it around me. Michael acts as the ball of yarn, releasing bandage as needed. I feel like a mummy. He wraps me, not too tightly, but securely, until all the paste is covered. He hands me one of my t-shirts I use for sleeping, that someone (probably him) placed on Michael's bed. I put it on.

Next, he pulls a bottle of essential oils out of his pocket and kneels down at my feet, rubbing a few drops into each one; Uncle Dal follows with a sock onto each foot. "There's tea for you. Drink it, then bedtime. We'll have this bug kicked and you can enjoy the rest of your vacation, sweetheart." He kisses, my forehead. "Love you."

It's hard to be mad at him when I know he just cares a whole lot. "Thanks, Daddy. Love you too."

Next it's Uncle Dal. "Have sweet dreams half pint. Love you too." I get a kiss from him too.

"Love you, Uncle Dal."

Finally, it's just me and Michael. "The tea still needs to cool anyway. It can do that while you and I take care of your spanking."

"What? You're not really going to do that are you? I'm sick and wrapped in poultices and I've already had a spanking today."

"You're sick now are you? Shall I call Daddy Winchester back to change the immune helper poultice, to a virus attacking one?"

"Okay, no. I'm not sick. But I don't want a spanking. Why should I be spanked again?"

He pulls me up, sits in the place I was, then situates me between his legs. Like Pavlov's fucking dog, my cock hardens, just thinking of Michael's cock under that pile of holey jeans. Uh, no pun intended. "This isn't a punishment, Duck," he begins. "This is about you and me. My role and your role. Remembering that I'm here for you. I feel some of that has already been restored today, this is just to make sure. Go into my suitcase. Retrieve what's in the side pocket."

I do and pull out, "The paddle from your desk Michael?"

"No. What you're holding is a figment of your imagination. Bring it."

My ass cheeks tingle just looking at the thing. It's made of oak, so it's very sturdy. Least my ass thinks so. I hand it to him. "R-remember, Uncle D-dal already spanked me."

Michael looks concerned. He takes the paddle from me and places it on the bed beside him, pulling me between his thighs once again. "Duck, are you scared of me?"

"No. Course not. Don't be stupid."

"Then why are you stuttering?" he says angry. He thinks I'm lying. I am lying.

"Okay, a little. You haven't spanked me with that in awhile, I'm a bit nervous, but I know it's dumb."

"It's not dumb and you need to tell me." His voice is still hard.

"I know. I did."

"You almost didn’t. And you lied, duck. I'm sorry, I can't let that go."

"So this will be a punishment spanking then?"

"Now you are being stupid. We've lost more ground than I thought." He taps my ass with his pointer finger five times, thinking. "Lose these," he says referring to my boxers. "This still isn't a punishment spanking," he assures me.

I'm confused. So confused, but I pull my boxers off leaving my socks on and that brings to mind a thought. "Wait, Daddy and Uncle Dal knew you were going to do this, that's why I was brought in here."

"Your powers of derivation astound."

Michael's sarcasm puts me at ease. He inspects my ass. "Your cheeks are barely pink."

"I know. I'm not sore at all. It's irrational, like I said. You've spanked me with that thing plenty, I know it's nothing to be scared of."

"Exactly. Which is why I say you weren't scared of it, you were, are scared of me. I want to know why. Now Dean."

"I don't… You're different that's all."

"I need more than that. I don't have enough grace to read your mind."

"You've been different since this morning and I've been feeling it all day. Not in a bad way, in a good way actually—I really like it and I dunno, I guess subconsciously it feels like I'm re-getting to know you? Does that makes sense?"

"Perfect sense." He reaches a hand up to my face. "I'm always me though, Dean. I'm not something you ever have to be scared of." The, but if anyone tries to harm you, they should be scared of me, is left unsaid, hanging in the air.

"Unless I get too much mud under my toenails," I tease. My feet were almost black when we came in from outside and Michael was horrified. Thankfully, he was dragged off by one of my older cousins, while I wisely sprinted to the bathroom and scrubbed them to death. When he was freed, he pulled me aside to inspect every toe nail.


"I get it Baby. I'm not scared of you. I swear."

His eyes still rake over me multiple times, until he's satisfied it's true. Then he guides me over his lap. The first spanks reawaken some of what Uncle Dal put there today, it hurts, but it's not more than I can handle and it doesn't last long. It's also enough to calm any nerves I had. I take a sharp inhale when I feel the soft wood rub against my ass. "Do you remember the first time I spanked you with this?"

"Yes, sir. I was being a super brat that day."

"That's an understatement. I gave you a good spanking that day and I thought maybe I'd gone too far. But I hadn't, had I?"

"No. I deserved every lick and I know it." I would never have admitted that at the time.

"You did and I was proud of you for taking each swat well. I was impressed."

"You were just happy because you realized I had a high spank threshold."

He taps the paddle menacingly, my cheeks quiver. "Thank you for reminding me. Perhaps I'll decide to lengthen this spanking instead of giving you the surprise I had planned."



"I want the surprise."

"Behave yourself then. You ready?"

"Yes, Michael."

I don't get a number, but I don't need one. I'm completely calm now, over his lap, my peach-shaped ass glowing in the moonlight. All right, so there's not that much moonlight coming in the window, and the light's still on, but doesn't that paint a prettier picture?

It ends up being twenty. Twenty firm, solid Michael promises to my ass. Enough to bring the tears, but not sobs, enough to remind me to behave, enough to remind