Chapter Text
John sighed as he tried to research the latest hunt while listening to his five year old and one year old in the other room. He knew they were making a mess. Dean - his five year old - had always been so easy, especially after his mother died the year prior. He had just began speaking again, and John could tell he was going to be a pain now without proper discipline.
"Dean," John called out. "Please be quiet, daddy's trying to concentrate."
"Sorry, dad," Dean said. Even though he was five, John could tell that his boy was trying to grow up quickly, and hated being punished because he equated it with being a little kid. John didn't know how to break it to the kid that he was still a little kid.
After a few more minutes of Dean and Sammy continuing to be as loud as possible, John rushed into the room to see that Dean had the crayons that John had bought for him and was drawing on the walls with Sammy.
"Dean!" John shouted loudly. He grabbed the crayons from both of his boys and wondered what had gotten into his oldest. Dean would never use the crayons John had trusted him with and draw on the walls like...well, like Sam. "That's it, mister, I've been very lenient with you lately, but not anymore. You're getting a spanking!"
"So?" Dean asked, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. It appeared as if the boy didn't even care that he was going to be spanked, and sure, it wasn't the first time he had been, but before the boy would always be terrified of being spanked.
"You're really testing me, Dean," John said.
"I don't care," Dean responded, sticking his tongue out. The father of two wanting nothing more than to grab the offending appendage.
"My patience is running thin." John lifted Sam, placing the boy in the old playpen he had received from his previous business partner's family after his house had burned down before turning back to Dean.
He grabbed the boy from where he stood and immediately stripped him of his bottom clothing. This spanking was going to be bare for all the crap the five year old had been putting him through, and this was going to teach him a deep lesson. While it wasn't the first bare spanking he had received, John was going to make this specific punishment memorable.
The first smack didn't even phase the boy. The second didn't either. John always went with one round of spankings depending on what the offense was, and one round was always hid boy's age. One round of spankings didn't cut it for Dean this time, so he was raising the punishment to two rounds.
After two rounds, Dean was only crying lightly, but John refused to spank him any further, as the boy's bottom was cherry red and he was worried about hurting the boy permanently.
John usually lifted his boy up after his spanking and cuddled him until he calmed down. Well, that was usually, and usually Dean was a sobbing mess after his spanking. With his only light crying, John knew that he had to take desperate measures.
He did lift Dean up into his lap and held him for a minimal amount of time. John then stood, holding Dean in his arms and carrying him to his bed where he laid him down above Sam's changing mat that was still there from his previous diaper change.
"Dad?" Dean asked.
"If you're going to act like a baby, I'm going to treat you like a baby," was all John said before he retrieved a diaper from the close-by diaper bag and beginning to diaper his oldest son, who was now struggling. Of course, John had diapered Dean when he was really a baby, and had plenty of experience from Sammy, who always struggled during a diaper change, more content to sit in his own mess for long periods of time than be changed.
It was slightly more difficult to diaper Dean with his five year old strength, but John managed to get it done. He was just glad Dean was a small boy who could still fit into his chubby one year old's diapers.
After he finished, he lifted Dean from the changing mat, who was crying more like he used to whenever he received a spanking, and placed him in the playpen beside his baby brother, who was contently playing with his blocks.
"Dad," Dean whined when he was placed in the playpen. Sure, Dean could have climbed out of it with some difficulty, but knew there would be further punishment that would be much worse if he didn't stay inside of it. Besides, he was still a short boy, and it would be difficult to climb out of it without anything to push his feet off of besides the floor of the baby item.
"Dean, do you understand why I am punishing you this way?" John asked. He knew Dean knew, but the boy wasn't opening his mouth to say anything. "It's because you were acting like a toddler, Dean. You were making it too hard for me to work, disobeying direct orders, and you drew on the walls like Sammy would do."
"I'm sorry, dad, I won't do it again," Dean said.
"I know you won't," John said. "Not after this punishment is over. It'll be done with tomorrow night. Get comfortable."
John got to work cleaning the crayon off the wall before it could permanently stain. It wasn't easy to get it out and he really didn't want to lose the deposit on this motel room.
After he finished there was a pristine white area compared to the slightly yellow walls. He groaned, but at least there wasn't crayon on the walls anymore.
John then returned to his research, but not before taking a glance at the boys. Dean was curled into the corner of the playpen, obviously upset, and Sam was happily playing with some of the toys that were in the playpen. The playpen contained a stuffed bear and some blocks that were big enough that Sam could only chew on, but not swallow.
Before he knew it, it was time for dinner. Sam usually got fed first because he was sent to bed early, but this time, John was making dinner for both boys at the same time.
John peered into the cabinet in the kitchen of their motel room and saw that Sam had three jars of baby food left. They were going shopping after breakfast the next morning, and John knew this, but wondered if Sam could share some of his baby food for the night.
John got out two baby food jars and placed them on the tray of Sam's high chair, pouring one of the jars into a bowl and getting out a spoon. After he did this, he microwaved some chicken nuggets for Dean. He couldn't let the boy run only on baby food, this was Dean he was talking about. His boy was a warrior, and couldn't survive on pureed carrots like Sammy could.
He placed the chicken nuggets at the table beside Sam's high chair and walked back to the playpen.
"Ready for dinner, boys?" he asked, and received no answer other than Sammy's high pitched squeal and small gurgles of what could be translated to as, "Dinner."
John lifted Dean out of the playpen and placed him on his feet beside him. He then grabbed Sammy and carried the tot to his high chair, motioning for Dean to follow him.
"Dad, can my punishment be over?" Dean asked after he sat in his chair at the table and picked up one of his chicken nuggets.
"No, Dean, your punishment is over tomorrow night," John answered. He began to spoon feed Sam and of course the boy got his food all over his face. He would certainly be getting a bath after dinner.
When John finished feeding Sam, he gave him a quick wipe-down and placed him back in his playpen. Dean was finished eating his chicken nuggets by this point, and was getting up to place his plate in the sink.
"I got it, Dean," John interrupted him by taking the plate from him and placing it in the sink for him. He then lifted the five year old, who let out a squeak of surprise.
"What are you doing, dad?" Dean asked before being strapped in the high chair that Sam had just been in. It was still messy from the baby's dinner. "Dad!" Dean exclaimed.
"Hush," John said, silently thanking whoever that Dean was a small kid. "You're getting Sammy treatment, remember?"
"But I already a-" Dean's protest was interrupted by a spoon-full of baby food being shoved in his mouth.
Dean almost spit out the offending mush.
John dared him to.
The five year old swallowed the gunk and after being fed, was carried to the playpen where Sam was. It was getting late, and Dean wondered why the baby wasn't in bed yet when he remembered that Sam always received a bath before bedtime - unless John had a hunt or something important had come up.
John left momentarily and returned, plucking Sam out of the playpen, whisking him off to remove his soiled diaper and clothing, and placing him in the bath. Sam was washed quickly, all the gunk washed away with tenderness that John gained after Mary had died. He then diapered the tot before placing him in footie pajamas and finally back in the playpen.
He then plucked Dean out of the playpen.
"Dad, you're not gonna make me take a bath, are you?" Dean asked. Usually Dean would take a bath once every other day, and he had just taken one the day before, so knew that he wasn't due for one for at least another day.
"Sammy gets a bath every night, and so will you," John said. He laid Dean back onto the changing mat, and Dean was glad he was finally going to get out of the confining plastic item. "This is your last chance for a diaper change tonight, Dean. Do you need to go to the bathroom?"
Dean could feel his stomach drop. "I can't use the toilet?" he asked.
"I told you you're being treated like Sammy, who is too small to use the toilet," John said. "Do you need to go to the bathroom?" the father asked once again.
Dean shook his head. He did have to go a bit, having not gone since just a few minutes before he had been diapered in the first place, but refused to admit that to John. If he had to deal with it later, he would.
"Good," John said. He removed Dean's diaper and placed him in the bath.
Dean usually didn't receive the love and affection that Sam did during bath time. After his mother died, bath time had been up to him and him only, so while Sam was getting murmured coos during bath time, Dean was sitting in silence, only hearing the outside of the bathroom, which was usually Sam laughing at something on TV or at one of his toys.
John gave Dean the exact same treatment he gave Sam.
This meant that when Dean was sulking in the tub, John was washing him, and giving him all the love and affection that Sam received. Dean had to admit, it made him feel good. He felt a slight pinch of happy to be receiving such love from his father, and he wanted more of it.
When John was finished bathing Dean, he lifted the boy out of the tub, dried him off with a towel before laying him back on the changing mat and diapering him once again. He then grabbed a bag of the clothing they were donated by people of their previous neighborhood after their house had burned down.
Inside of that bag, John knew rested clothing his son had refused to wear shortly after he turned five after beginning to speak again because they were too 'babyish' for him.
John had thought it was ridiculous, and wondered how clothing could be too babyish when they had nothing, but did realize shortly after that they were a bit babyish. Shirts that contained teddy bears and had Thomas the Train on them.
The father of two used a teddy bear t-shirt and some blue shorts that had been donated to them as pajamas. He smirked a little when he saw that the shorts were a bit too small over the diaper, and showed off the plastic.
"Dad," Dean whined again, but John placed a finger over his lips.
"Until tomorrow night," the man reminded. He then placed Dean inside of Sam's crib. It wasn't a stretch, as the year prior, he would often find Dean inside of Sam's crib with the infant. In fact, Dean had just began to sleep in his own bed a few months ago. Sam would be sleeping in his playpen that John removed the toys out of before whisking Dean off for a bath. He had done it before and he could do it again.
John rested a hand over Dean's head as the boy whimpered a bit before returning to a bit of research. It was still early and he could get some work done before bed.