Work Text:
Events leading up to the punishment (in the past):
Shawn, with his curfew having been bumped from 7pm to 8pm on school nights, took it upon himself to celebrate this victory by seeing if he could bump it later, or erase it altogether. He expressed to his best friend that since he was thirteen—an actual teenager now—that Jonathan had bumped his curfew. This was true. He also stated that Jonathan was insistent he come home for a proper night’s rest, being that it was a school night. This was true too. But Shawn didn’t like that. The man had been too strict and needed to lighten up. Come on, Cory’s curfew was later, a whole hour later—and in fact, he was a teenager, and the man should know that teenagers shouldn't even be having curfews. Cory agreed, even though he himself would never dare to defy his own parents on the matter. Shawn and Cory both assumed very wrongly that night, that Jonathan was the super cool and hip teacher, but everyone has another side to them—a line you just don’t cross.
So—Cory told his parents that John said it was okay for Shawn to spend the night. His parents had been suspicious at first, but Shawn had insisted that he had already let his guardian know (which he in fact did not).
Shawn assumed that John really wasn’t serious about that new curfew of 8 o’ clock. Come on now, the dude was thirteen–a full fledged teenager. Well, his world was about to be shaken, and his view of his new cool and hip guardian was about to be totally changed. This happened when Cory had gotten all nervous and fidgety, and Shawn had realized he screwed up by making his friend lie about this with him. He should have known not to make Cory lie. Poor kid didn’t have it in him, and it’s not like this same scenario hadn’t happened multiple times before.
Basically, Cory tattled. He told his parents that Shawn was supposed to be at home and tried convincing them not to talk to Turner about this, promising he’d make Shawn leave. And Cory pranced back up the stairs to his room to be with Shawn, assuming his parents agreed (they did not).
Shawn was oblivious to this whole thing. He did not know Cory tattled. And neither boy knew Alan and Amy would inform Jonathan on the matter. The only sign he had that something was amiss was how nervous Cory was acting. By this point, it was nearing 10:30pm, and Cory finally decided to push Shawn out the door, making the excuse that he was feeling sick and didn’t want to spread it. Shawn didn’t buy this but didn’t want to argue, just in case. Cory, making good on his promise with his parents, made sure to be visible to them when kicking Shawn out. So, the boy escorted Shawn to the living room and made him walk out the front door. Cory’s parents smiled and waved as they walked past, making Cory assume they were on the same page and trusted him to deal with it.
He was sorely mistaken.
Shawn KNEW something was just not right about this. He always left by way of Cory’s window, almost always. He didn’t ask. Didn’t need to know, leaving with the idea he had concocted that it was indeed Cory getting in trouble with his parents over something random, rather than himself getting in trouble with John over this very situation.
He was also sorely mistaken.
Current scenario—present time—punishment:
When Shawn enters his and Jonathan’s shared apartment, John is seated on the edge of the sofa, facing the door, with arms crossed. He’s not pleased, but he’s trying not to show the amount of frustration he has bubbling beneath the surface.
With a calm tone, he wonders, “Do you know what time it is, Shawn?”
Shawn smiles, assuming this whole thing is no big deal. “Time for you to get a watch?” He sort of chuckles to himself, knowing the joke was lame but hoping it would irritate his guardian. It does, very much.
“No, time for you to get a watch. And a brain.” John sighs, showing a small amount of frustration in the form of desperation, pleading that Shawn would actually think sometimes. “It’s almost eleven, buddy. What time did we agree curfew was?”
Shawn, being a total smart ass, says, “Oh, I didn’t agree. I’m a teenager now, John. Cut the apron strings a little, man.”
John is trying very hard not to blow, crossing and uncrossing his legs, wanting to hopefully come across as a patient person. “Question isn’t going away. What time did we agree curfew was?”
Shawn huffs at the man’s insistence. “Eight, but Jo—“
John, losing a smidgeon of his patience, cuts the boy off. “Yeah, that’s correct. Where have you been?” He wants to ask what in the hell caused the boy to be almost three hours late, apart from sheer pushing buttons, but he doesn’t.
Shawn shirks the question with a shrug and tries to dive past Jonathan to head to his bedroom. This doesn’t work.
John speeds toward the stairs, blocking Shawn. “Where. Have. You. Been?”
Pausing for a moment and trying to still act all nonchalant, casual, he answers with a, “it doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”
“No, it does. It does matter, Shawn. Tell me,” Jonathan says, now more serious and urgent. “And no bullshit.”
Shawn exhales, realizing if he doesn’t tread lightly, he’s gonna be caught (even though he already is). “Got stopped at Chubbies ‘cause Chubbie had a huge fuckin’ heart attack. It was quite the show. I was the only one who knew CPR.”
“Bullshit, total horse shit. I’m totally beyond disbelief at this point. You can’t even give a good lie,” John says, raising his voice only for emphasis. Shawn is about to pipe up with a more believable lie, but John puts a hand up. “Don’t even try again. I know where you were.”
Shawn raises an eyebrow, surprised. “How?”
John rolls his eyes, trying to go back to an even keel, hoping for sarcasm than anything. “Come on, kid. How do you think?”
Shawn’s lips turn in. Shawn realizes, and he’s furious. “Cory…”
“Bingo. There you go.”
Shawn finally gets suspicious. “Then why were Cory’s parents all chill when I left?”
“They knew I’d deal with you. It wasn’t their rodeo.”
“Bullshit! Cory’s parents are way worse than you. They would’ve hounded me.”
“Fine—because, Shawn, we wanted to see if you had it in you to tell the truth. Well, you failed that test.” Letting a little anger out with his sarcasm, he adds, “By fucking miles. I shouldn’t even be surprised.”
“Then what the hell was the point of this whole conversation if you already knew?” Shawn nearly screams, and it would’ve been a scream if his prepubescent voice crack hadn’t gotten in the way.
When Jonathan says nothing, trying to hold in his temper as he thinks, Shawn takes this opportunity to try and slide past him, to his bedroom.
Now completely having lost the last thread of his patience, Jonathan catches the boy’s arm, whips him around and lands three pretty heavy swats to his jean butt.
Shawn looks at his mentor, shocked and very offended. “What the hell, man? What was that?”
Jonathan tightens his grip, warning, “That, man , was a spanking. And you’re up for a real one in a minute. You’ve been earning it since you’ve moved in with me.”
No longer willing to draw this out, the man pulls the teen, more like drags him, in the direction of the couch. Shawn isn’t having it, and he’s shouting and sagging as low to the floor as he can get. This forces John to pick him up from behind, by his armpits, and quickly carry him to their destination. Wordlessly, the man sits down and subdues Shawn by pinning him over his lap with his arm. Shawn’s caught. Officially. There’s no more running, and no more lying.
This doesn’t mean that Shawn can’t fight like his life depends on it though. In fact, he fights so hard that it forces his mentor to pin him further, his legs beneath one of John’s and his arms to his back. And now Jonathan waits for Shawn to simmer down, just a little, so he can maybe, hopefully explain what’s going to happen.
Although this doesn’t quite happen.
Shawn lets out a long stream of cuss words and accusations, ending with the question of “why?”
John matches Shawn’s fervor, but doesn’t quite yell loud enough to wake the neighbors. “Because I’m sick of you blatantly ignoring rules that are there for a reason, and I’m scared that one day, one of your rash decisions and your complete lack of reasoning is gonna land you in a fucking ravine.”
Shawn pauses for a moment, realizing something. “Wait, you’re Jonathan Turner, though. You don’t—you wouldn’t spa—you don’t know how to.”
“I most certainly do. And this calls for it.”
“Who taught you?” Shawn asks indignantly, as if he was the one in charge. “I want names.”
Jonathan yanks the boy’s pants to his ankles.
“My nanny spanked me when I was a kid, Shawn. My rich parents didn’t care to do it. And the technique I’m about to use? That’s all the Matthews’. Blame them.”
Shawn is freaking out by this point. He’s pinned, and both his pants and underwear are all the way down at his feet. What the hell? Squirming, Shawn has to ask, “Why did you just—pants me? That’s not cool, man!”
“Mr. Matthews says if we do it this way, then I can tell when to stop. When your ass is a pinkish red. Past that, he says, I could injure you. I don’t wanna do that.”
“Well, ain’t he such a saint!”
At this, Jonathan decides it’s high time to make good on his threat and begins the spanking.
“Ground me!” Shawn pleads. “I’m a teenager! Teens get grounded!”
John continues, not caring about Shawn’s thoughts on the subject. “Buddy, right now, you are far from a teenager. You are acting like a spoiled toddler. You’d fit right in at a daycare. Not to mention that every time I ground you, you find a loophole to not abide by it. Now, shush, or I’ll tape your mouth shut.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I might.” (A/N: He wouldn’t, although to me, that’d be funny because I’m a psychopath.)
Shawn freaks out more, now proving John’s point about the toddler thing.
“It’s not fair,” he whines, jerking his feet for emphasis.
“No,” John says, giving one solid whack, startling Shawn. “What’s not fair is not knowing if or when your kid is gonna be back home safe when you tell him to. I was worried, Shawn. Don’t do that to me.”
John, being his first time ever spanking anyone, ever, starts out pretty slow and soft, but when Shawn reacts with more rudeness, he can tell it’s obviously not making much of a statement. Shawn may act like a toddler sometimes, but he ain’t one. The man warns once. “Do you want me to spank you harder?”
At this, Shawn pauses his angry fit and becomes highly unnerved by the question. He didn’t know that was even an option. He assumed this was it. A lot of assuming today. “I WANT you to fucking stop!”
“That ain’t gonna happen, pal. Maybe never at this rate. I’m gettin’ very sick of your attitude.”
Could Jonathan be bluffing? He wouldn’t spank forever, would he? That’s, like, impossible.
It sure feels like an eternity though.
Toward the end, Shawn begins begging. “Please, John. I’m sorry. I won’t do this ever, ever, ever again.”
“Good to hear,” John says, still smacking. He had gotten creative and has now started working on the thighs.
Shawn pauses his begging for a moment to see if he stops at this. He doesn’t, which makes Shawn all the more desperate. “Please, ple-hease! PLEASE. I’ll stop! I’m-I’m sorry, man!”
“You’re forgiven. Still not done though. I don’t think you’ve fully learned your lesson yet.”
“Well FUCK you then!” Shawn yells, helplessly crying by this point.
This does not help the situation, and it actually convinces Mr. Turner that this was the right call—the exact thing Shawn needed, to know that they weren’t pals only. John had a line, and Shawn had crossed it. If the kid was to live with him long term, he needed to set a precedent, an expectation in the kid’s mind of how things will go if he continues to push. John ain’t a pushover.
When Shawn begins to think that his skin is definitely going to burn off and become ash, John finally stops. Unfortunately, Shawn had made quite the fool of himself during this process, and now he is beyond embarrassed as he weeps over his once favorite teacher’s knees, bare from waist down. This could possibly be THE worst experience of his life. He may never recover.
“Shawn, hon, we’re done,” John coaxes, softly rubbing the aching spots. Shawn flinches at this, still wailing between ragged breaths, and suddenly John feels horrible. “Shawnee, we’re done, kid. No more. I promise.”
John feels his own desperation rise and wonders if he broke the kid so much that maybe he’ll never stop crying and perhaps never speak to him again.
He’s tempted to melt down himself, watching Shawn just laying there, half exposed and crying like he got shot. What did he do? Could he have avoided this somehow? Maybe grounding would have been better.
The man slips the teen’s underwear back up, but at the shrieking sound that comes out of Shawn, he decides wisely to leave the pants off. Once the kid’s cries decrease in pitch, John coaxes him into some sort of upright position that accommodates not having the couch touch the sensitive areas. This is a feat, so John decides it’s best to pull him into a sort of diagonal hug, where he’s holding Shawn’s shoulders with one arm and the crook of his knees with the other, so Shawn’s ass and thighs can just hang out without touching anything. John feels a little silly doing it this way because the boy is in fact not a toddler anymore, but Shawn doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, it’s like Shawn prefers it like this, and he’s grabbing at John’s shoulders for dear life, sobbing and snotting into his neck.
It’s altogether too much for John to take, and so he holds Shawn tighter for his own comfort as well as Shawn’s—trying with all his might not to shatter completely. He’ll have to ask Alan later if this was indeed the effect a spanking was supposed to have, because if it was, then John would never want to do this again. He’d find another way. He had to. Or just another version of this but with less traumatic results.
“Hey, kiddo. It’s alright. It’s okay. All in the past now,” John tries, brushing the boy’s hair with his fingers.
It takes a hot minute for Shawn to calm down enough to talk. “That hurt,” he coughs out, giving one miserable laugh.
“I bet it did. You okay? You scared me for a sec there.”
Shawn, now shivering, nods his head on John’s shoulder.
Jonathan wraps the boy’s frame with the throw left on the back of the couch. Trying to repair the damage done, John tries to remind Shawn he’s not as horrible as he probably thinks he is. “You’re a sweet kid, Shawn. You really are.”
Bitterly, between sniffles and sputters, Shawn replies, “It doesn’t seem that way.”
“Well, you are. I wouldn’t be putting up with your shenanigans if I thought you were a waste of time. I think you’re pretty cool.” John boops Shawn’s nose for emphasis, and Shawn hides his face, greatly weirded out. “I can see you’re getting some of your spunk back. That’s good. I don’t want to spank that out of you.”
When that doesn’t get a response, John sighs and pulls Shawn’s hair back a little to look him in the eye. “I want you to still be you, kid. That wasn’t the point of this. I hope you know that. I just wanted you to learn and start listening.”
Shawn nods, suddenly embarrassed again, and goes back to hiding his face and sniffling into the man’s shirt.
John holds Shawn in his arms, even past the point when they start to ache holding him there, until Shawn’s breathing begins to slow into this rhythmic pace. Realizing the boy had fallen asleep, John ever so gently wakes him up. “You need to go get ready for bed. It’s past your bedtime.”
John is ready to hear some snide remark about how he’s not a kid anymore and shouldn’t need a bedtime, but he doesn’t. This concerns John a little. Hopefully Shawn is still Shawn. Hopefully he didn’t cause irreparable damage.
Shawn does groan though, which is a Shawn-like trait, so there’s hope.
John helps the kid up to a hunched standing position, but Shawn refuses to walk. John isn’t sure if this is rebelling or if he actually CAN’T walk. Which would be a bigger issue. “Come on, kiddo. I need to make sure you are still able to walk. Didn’t want to maim you.”
With a wince, the very tired teen carefully walks a few feet before asking to be picked up. John can’t say no to this, and in a strange way, he’s sort of happy the kid asked. Sure, Shawn is older now, but it just isn’t fair that John had to miss out on the first twelve years of his life. So—he’s okay with buying back some of it.
“Of course,” he says, easily lifting the little guy while avoiding the tender spots. “You really need to start eating more. This is concerning,” Jonathan teases.
Shawn rolls his eyes. Success. Shawn’s back. But unfortunately he doesn’t say much. He does, however, look like he’s about to put a thumb in his mouth but thinks the better of it. John makes a deal with himself not to point it out if that happens. It must be a coping thing when he’s really feeling out of sorts, probably when he’s by himself. Poor kid needs a break.
“It’s okay if you need to—“ He begins. “It’s okay.”
This calms Shawn’s tense frame, and when he’s tucked into bed, John watches the thumb slowly make its way to Shawn’s mouth. It’s not obvious. Shawn had tried very hard to seem like it wasn’t happening, under his covers, but still. John doesn’t say anything more about it. He does say though that Shawn can skip his bedtime routine tonight.
Shawn nods, gesturing for the man to sit on the edge of the bed. Jonathan complies, giving the teen a reassuring smile.
“Are you really, actually comfortable in clothes? We should maybe at least get you into PJs,” suggests Jonathan.
He really does kind of have a point. “Alright,” Shawn concurs, letting his thumb loose, but he doesn’t move apart from that.
Jonathan pauses. “What?”
“Help me,” Shawn says, rather pathetically.
With a joking eye roll and a short laugh, he goes to grab some PJs. It’s the least he could do after what he just did. When he hands the PJs to Shawn though, Shawn still just lays there.
John gives him a look. “What? Use your words. Don’t just stare at me.”
“It still hurts. I didn’t like that.”
With a sigh, the man pulls the covers off and assists Shawn. “I didn’t like that much either, kid.”
Once Shawn is fully changed and settled in bed, John watches the thumb move right back in place, and Shawn continues to stare, making the man increasingly uncomfortable. Until Shawn starts to cry again.
“I’m sorry-hee-ey.”
“Hey, hey,” John coos, brushing hair from the boy’s eyes. “I forgive you. It’s all good.”
“Please don’t leave.”
“Shawn, I won’t. Why would I—“ Realizing what the kid was trying to say from those words, probably not knowing how to say what he fears, John goes into full on dad mode. “Scoot over,” he orders.
The kid gingerly rolls over onto his side to allow John the space to lay too. And to not make it SUPER awkward, John insists on putting the barrier of a blanket between them. Shawn oddly doesn’t seem to care either way, which is new for Shawn. Alan didn’t warn John about the clinginess and comforting part after the fact. Oh well, he’d learn.
Shawn, now nestled snugly in a blanket burrito, pulls John’s arm around him and holds it tightly.
“Okay,” John says, not really knowing what to say, but feeling like he should say something. “But I’ll need that back later,” he jokes, referring to his arm.
He hears the grunted complaint from the boy at the horrible joke, and he can’t help laughing just a little.
Not wanting to get too serious but also wanting to make sure they had closure, John starts, “Hey kid.”
“Yeah?” He says, between sniffles and whimpers.
“You know I still care— nothing you do can ever change how I think of you, right? You’re still someone I’ll always- I mean I- I don’t plan on leaving. What I’m saying is you can murder someone, and I’m not gonna just take off. I won’t help you bury the body or anything, and I won’t pay your bail money, but like, I’ll visit you in jail…but I’m not saying you’re capable of murder. I know you wouldn’t do that.”
“Dude, it’s fine. I’m-I’m not fragile. I’ve been hit many times, just, I didn’t think you’d ever do it.”
This breaks the man’s heart, and sitting up, he can’t help but ask tearfully, “I-did you think what I did was abusive? I’m genuinely asking. Because if you thought it was, I’m gonna have to reevaluate how I do everything. I don’t want you thinking that I’m gonna wail on you just for fun or when I’m stressed or something.”
After a beat, Shawn answers, although refusing to make eye contact and remaining stiffly in place. “No, I just—“ Hearing the man’s distress, he decidedly turns to face his stand-in parent. “I didn’t mean that. I know you’re nothing like my parents. I know I deserved-I was basically asking for this. You warned me and everything, sort of when I arrived, but I didn’t believe you’d do it, and so I went ahead and did what I wanted anyway. I deserved it. Or, like, sometimes, I guess I just don’t think. More the not thinking part.”
“But am I abusive? Is what I did gonna scar you for life?”
Shawn shakes his head and almost laughs. “That was…well, it hurt like hell but I’ve had worse. Dad would beat me when he was drunk or when he just felt like it. You don’t do that. I, like, pushed you to do it. I wish you wouldn’t lecture so much though and just get it over with.”
John chuckles, replying, “Well, then I wouldn’t be me. I am a teacher, you know. I was actually planning on doing a bit more of that here shortly, now that you’re more awake. It'll put you to sleep, since you need to sleep. My lectures do have that effect on you.”
Shawn, breaking a little, asks the question that’s been bothering him the most. “Is it okay…you’re okay that I cry? Dad would’ve given me ‘what for’ for crying. He hated it but I couldn't stop. You didn’t seem to mind.”
“Oh, Shawnee, it’s only human. Men can cry. And not just the dainty men either. Football players cry.”
Shawn, wanting to laugh, tries. “Football players don’t cry.”
“Yes they do,” John insists, crying a bit more himself and wiping his eyes. “See? I cry.”
Shawn can’t help but laugh for real, even though he didn’t mean it in a rude way. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at the fact that you’re crying. Just-“
“It’s okay, bud. I wouldn’t care if you did.”
“We’re a pair of puss— I mean crybabies.”
“I prefer the term sensitive,” John quips, pulling Shawn up into a hug.
Sitting up doesn’t hurt that much due to the burrito of blankets, but for some reason, just being told to not feel bad for crying makes Shawn want to cry more, so he does. And it feels good, and he doesn’t know if he can stop, so he doesn’t. At least for a while, to the point that Jonathan gets concerned by all the water that’s left his face.
“I’m glad you’re not afraid to cry, buddy, but you’re making me cry, and now we’re both dehydrated. I’ll be right back,” John says, kissing the boy’s forehead.
Shawn whines when he leaves but when a glass of water and a straw are put near his face, he doesn’t balk at it. In fact, he inhales it.
“Good, thank you,” John says, giving Shawn a small head massage. “Now, lay down.”
Shawn nods, obeying, and just as before, Shawn pulls his mentor’s arm and pins it around himself, with John resigning to his fate. “I suppose guys can cuddle too,” John jokes. “Just making sure, Shawn. You know I won’t spank you just because. I’ll always have good reasons.”
“I know.”
“And those reasons have to do with making sure you live past eighteen, at the very least. You get that?”
Shawn sighs. “Got it.”
“Good, because it may just happen again, knowing your track record.”
“I don’t want it to.”
“Then think before you act, and it won’t.” Sighing, John adds, “I love you, pal.”
“I’m sorry,” Shawn insists, tempted to cry one last time.
“All’s forgiven,” John insists more, giving finality to the statement.
At this, Shawn turns to face Jonathan and nestles into his chest, feeling the safety that the man provides. That spanking really sucked—but—it somehow made him feel better.
**Spoiler alert if you haven’t read “REAL Old Fashioned” yet: Shawn doesn’t think before he acts.