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Connor stopped on the sidewalk for a moment to adjust the bags he was carrying. Landing a temporary job at a grocery store meant he got to take home heavily discounted – and even some free – groceries. He didn't care if they were near or past their expiration date, or if the packaging was damaged; they were still good, and the huge relief to the Winchesters' budget made up for it. But it also meant his shopping bags were considerably heavier.
It was a burden he was happy to carry. He just needed a minute to catch his breath.
He made it to the motel at last, and stopped at the foot of the staircase; climbing to the second floor with the heavy bags was less than appealing. He had called the room from the store before his shift ended, to have Sam and Dean ready to help him as he arrived, since he realized how much loot he would be bringing back. There had been no answer. He had called again just after clocking out, but still no answer.
It was okay. It was Saturday, the kids must have been out. If Dad was here, he would have probably taken advantage of the nice weather after a couple of rainy days to have them train outside. Connor didn't mind training, it was important, and it sure took care of Dean's excess energy; but they deserved some free time as well.
Connor wasn't too worried about them; Dean had been doing a good job watching Sam whenever Connor left them alone. But even if Sam had wandered off on his own, it was fine – the town was pretty mundane, and even though he was only ten years old, Sam could handle himself.
Connor ended up making two trips to get all the bags upstairs, and gulped down three glasses of cold water before starting to put the groceries away. This task took a while, both because he had a considerable heap to deal with, and because he was thinking about what to make for dinner while he sorted through the spoils. The kids had too much junk food on a regular basis, and Connor tried to go for home-cooked whenever he could.
It was only when all the groceries had been neatly placed inside the cupboards and fridge, that Connor took a look around the room. The place was a mess – it usually was, with three boys sharing the space, but it seemed more so today, with clothes, shoes, empty cups, candy wrappers and an assortment of other items strewn about. Connor let out a sigh. He should wait for Sam and Dean to come back and make them clean it up, but the sight of it hurt his eyes too much. How did Dean's T-shirt even get up onto the curtain rod?!
On his way to the window, Connor kicked aside several stray shoes, picked up a slightly-damp towel and shoved a duffel bag back under a bed. This caused a plastic bag to topple over, a few objects spilling out. Connor huffed and crouched to gather them back in.
He frowned as he saw the items: a toy robot, a small tin teapot, a hairbrush, a souvenir keychain with the London Underground logo, a picture frame decorated with colorful rhinestones, and a rubber ball. None of those seemed familiar. He put them back into the bag and left it by the bed where it had been.
Connor marched over to the window and stretched up to pluck the shirt down from where it hung. While he did, he glanced out of the window that overlooked the empty lot behind the motel. A couple of kids were there, their backs to him, and Connor squinted at them, and then leaned in to get a better look.
They were his brothers alright. He wasn't sure what they were doing there; the lot had nothing interesting, just random trash and some weeds. Sam and Dean were bent over something Connor couldn't see, and as he was reaching for the latch to open the window so he could call to them, he saw the boys scrambling back and away from whatever they were bending over. Sam's feet tripped underneath him and he went down, and Dean hurriedly threw himself on top of him, covering him like they were in the middle of a battlefield.
Connor dropped the T-shirt he was still holding and bolted for the door.
The kids were already sitting up on the muddy ground when he got to them. He fell to his knees, grabbing each boy by the arm to make them look up at him, and took stock. They looked a little shocked, but otherwise unharmed.
"Are you okay?" Connor asked, eyes flicking between them. They both nodded. "What happened?"
Sam and Dean slanted a quick glance at each other; it was enough to let Connor know they had been messing around with something they weren't supposed to.
"Um," Dean said. "We... um…"
Connor let go of them and looked around. He saw something a few feet away, probably the spot where the kids had been when he had seen them through the window. Connor got up and went over there to check it out.
It was their portable propane camping stove; Dad had left it behind since it needed a new valve, and he had been in too much of a hurry to take care of it. Connor had had it fixed, stored it away and forgot about it. Sam and Dean must have taken it out here.
Connor wasn't sure what he was seeing on and around the stove; it looked like puddles of metal that had melted and were now cooling down. There was also a metal ring with handles attached to it, misshapen from the heat. He squinted at it before realizing it was a small aluminum pot whose bottom had melted, leaving the sides as a hoop that had toppled down around the burner.
Connor turned back to the kids. Dean had helped Sam up, and was now patting him down – both righting his clothes and dusting them off, while checking for injuries. Sam must have been still shaken, because he didn't slap Dean's hands away like he would have done under normal circumstances.
Dean looked over at Connor when he was done. "He's fine," he reported.
Connor nodded. "Are you?"
"Yeah."
Connor would have pushed to make sure, but Dean did seem okay, so he let it be. "What happened?"
Dean shifted his weight from foot to foot. "We… we had a case."
Connor raised his eyebrows. "You had a case? What do you mean, a case?"
Sam spoke up for the first time. "A supernatural case. A cursed object."
Connor stared at Sam, then at Dean, then at Sam again. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Well, there was this lore book that I read at Uncle Bobby's a while back, and-" Sam started, but Connor waved his hand.
"I'm guessing it's not something you can summarize in sixty seconds or less. It's better if we go up to the room and you tell me everything."
The stove had cooled enough for him to touch, and Connor took it with him, although he didn't know if it was still usable with how it was crusted with chunks of molten metal.
Back in the room Sam and Dean shucked off their muddy shoes and changed out of the clothes that had been soiled with dirt when they took a dive onto the lot's ground. Connor did the same, watching the boys while he changed, noticing that there didn't seem to be any limitation to their movement, nor bloodstains on their clothes, nor grimaces of pain. Satisfied that they weren't hiding any injuries, Connor fetched some water for them and sat them on the sofa while he took a seat across from them.
"Okay, let's hear it," he said. "Start at the top."
"It was my fault," Dean said. "I shouldn't've gone with this."
Sam turned to him. "It wasn't your fault, it was my plan."
"A stupid ass plan. I should've stopped you."
"I would've done it on my own-"
"Like hell you would-"
"Hey!" Connor raised his voice. Both boys clammed up. "I said I wanna hear it from the top. Sam, you said you read something in a book?"
"Yeah," Sam replied. "There was all kinds of stuff there, but also a section about evil spirits that can be trapped inside statues and figurines. You know, we think that ancient peoples that worshiped statues were primitive for praying to man-made objects. But those statues sometimes had real spirits inside them, so actually, they weren't worshiping the object-"
"I get the picture," Connor said. He usually didn't mind Sam chattering away, but now was not the time.
"Right, sorry. Yesterday Dean 'n me were walking by this house a couple of blocks away. They were having a garage sale, so we went in to take a look, see if there was anything interesting."
Connor nodded; they could sometimes find useful things for cheap at sales like that.
"I happened to look through the kitchen window, and I saw they had a figurine of this Bhutan demoness-"
"This what?"
"There's a legend about a female demon that tried to prevent the distribution of Buddhism in the area of Bhutan and Tibet, and was subdued when they built temples over her body. She belongs to a species of demons called Srin, and they-"
"Dude," it was Dean this time. He gave Connor an apologetic look. "Long story short, Sam thought the figurine in that house might've contained an actual evil Srin spirit."
"Why would you think that?" Connor asked.
Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I don't remember what the book said word for word, but there was something about a red glint in their eyes, and the statue might feel warmer to the touch, I think it was? I was sure I noticed that glint when I saw the figurine. Anyway, we couldn't've asked the owners to let us check it more closely, they would've gotten suspicious."
Connor sighed inwardly; he could already see how this had unfolded. "You stole the figurine?"
"Not right then, there weren't other people around and we couldn't blend in," Sam said. "I also wanted to do some more research."
"And did you do it?"
"The library here doesn't have all that much about lore, and so I tried to see if I could find anything in the books we have here, but we don't have a lot either."
Connor would have been surprised if Sam were to find anything; he had never heard of those Srin creatures, or whatever they were called, and he was sure there was nothing about them, or about spirits trapped in statues, in the few books they had with them. Sam would have needed a college-level library at the very least, or Bobby's extensive collections. "So you just went ahead and took the figurine."
"We had to. The garage sale was ending today, we wouldn't've gotten another chance."
"We weren't in any danger," Dean cut in. "We waited till there were enough people so the owners would be busy, and Sam walked around and distracted them by buying all kinds of stuff."
"Yeah, I asked a ton of questions and haggled over every item and bought Dean enough time to sneak into the kitchen from the garage and take the figurine," Sam looked pretty proud of his achievement, although he deflated a bit at the stern look Connor shot his way. "It was my allowance, I didn't use any of the grocery money or the emergency cash. You can check."
Thanks a lot for that, Connor thought.
"It was just harmless junk," Dean added, getting up. He brought over the plastic bag Connor had knocked over before, and dumped its contents on the coffee table. "See? It's the stuff in here. He wasted less than five bucks."
"The money's the least of my concerns," Connor said as Dean sat back down. "And I don't care what kind of junk you buy with your allowance. Am I right to assume you decided to go ahead and destroy the figurine even though you had no way to confirm it was haunted?"
Sam and Dean nodded; it wasn't like they could have denied it at this point.
"Once we had it and saw it was made of lead, we figured it wouldn't be a problem," Sam said. "The melting point of lead is lower than most metals-"
"Wait," Connor held his hand up. "That figurine was made of lead? And you thought it was a good idea to just melt it in a cooking pot?!"
"We did it outside," Sam replied; Connor could see he was trying to sound confident that he had made the right call, but that confidence was wavering. "So we wouldn't be affected by the fumes."
"Right, the fumes," Connor rubbed the bridge of his nose. The kids' story was going downhill by the second, but it was finally coming to a close. "And then?"
"That was it," Dean said. "You came over just as we finished melting it."
"You were on the ground like you were trying to take shelter from a grenade, so don't bullshit me," Connor retorted.
The boys squirmed in their seats. Dean was the one to reply, "The pot, um, it somehow melted, and there were droplets spraying up. We backed away so we wouldn't get burned, and we fell. That was all."
"Yeah, that's all there was," Sam chimed in.
The water glasses Connor had brought for his brothers were on the coffee table, half full. Connor reached for one, gulped down the water that remained in it, then emptied the other one. It wasn't a lot, but he needed something to keep him from blowing up all over Sam and Dean.
"Okay," he said, taking a breath. "Let's review. You saw a figurine that you thought was cursed or haunted-"
"It's actually closer to a possession-" Sam started, but Connor cut him off.
"Doesn't fucking matter. You barely did any research to determine either way. You trespassed into the owners' house, stole it, then melted it in a pot. In an aluminum pot, which also melted, over rain-soaked ground-"
"See, we figured that having water around the stove can help if the fire got out of hand," Dean said.
Connor groaned with frustration. "For real?! You didn't think that white-hot metal touching water was going to spray boiling steam and metal droplets all over you?!"
Sam and Dean exchanged glances; they obviously hadn't thought of that.
"Did you at no point during all of this even consider coming to me?"
They were squirming again; at last Sam replied, "We didn't want to bother you, you're working so hard. And we could handle it."
Connor gestured at the camping stove, and then at the heap of muddy clothes. "I can see how well you've handled it."
The boys had the decency to look embarrassed.
"You put yourselves in danger of getting arrested if you were caught stealing from that house, and in danger of getting burned during the smelting," Connor went on. "Not to mention that if the damned figurine had been haunted, you'd've had an evil spirit on your hands that you had no idea how to gank because you didn't do any fucking research!"
They weren't even looking at him now. Both had their eyes down, Dean's fingers twisting the hem of his shirt, and Sam's plucking at a stray thread poking from the sofa's upholstery.
"I'm… I'm sorry," Sam said weakly. "We didn't… we didn't mean for any of this to happen."
"Obviously," Connor replied. He could have used a milder tone, but right now he didn't have the energy to spare his baby brother's feelings. "You were fucking lucky you didn't get hurt, but you could be next time if you rush into danger with a half-assed plan like that, just because you were itching for some action."
"We weren't itching for action-" Sam started, but Dean interrupted him.
"There's not gonna be next time. We get it. Don't we?" He nudged Sam's arm.
"Yeah," Sam nodded his head heartily. "It won't happen again, Connie."
As mad as Connor was, seeing their genuine contrition – and it was genuine, he could tell – melted a little bit of his anger. Not a whole lot, though; their fuck-up had been too massive.
Still, he had to take a couple of seconds to steel himself before saying, "I know it won't happen again. Not after I'm done with you."
Alarm rose in their faces. Dean moved his hand to grab Sam's and squeeze it.
"We earned it, I know we did," he said. "But we learned our lesson. You don't have to-"
"Yeah, I do."
Dean bit his lower lip. "Okay, but you can lay off Sammy, I was in charge, I should've stopped him."
"And you'll get what's coming to you for that, but so will he."
"C'mon, man, he's just a little kid."
"He was the brains of the operation."
"Which I should've shut down-"
"Hey, I'm right here."
Both Connor and Dean looked at Sam. He straightened his back and met their gazes.
"I don't need you to take the blame for me," he told Dean. "Yes, you didn't stop me, but I'm not stupid, I should've known better. If anything, I should be taking the blame for you."
"Nobody's taking the blame for nobody else," Connor said. "You both screwed up and you both are gonna get your asses whooped."
Most of the time he could live with a punishment other than a spanking for his youngest brother; it didn't work as well for Sam as it did for Dean. But for pulling such a dangerous stunt? No way was he letting Sam off the hook.
The alarm in the boys' faces that had somewhat subsided during the latest exchange, returned in full force at Connor's words. Again, Dean was the first to respond.
"You can give Sam an essay to write about handling haunted statues, how about it? True, it's not that much of a punishment for the little nerd, but it's educational-"
"Dean," Connor said.
"C'mon, Connie, he's gonna get the message better if you sit his ass on a chair to hit the books instead of beatin' it," Dean was trying to sound conversational, practical, one older brother to another. But Connor caught the slightly-pleading tone, and so did Sam.
"Dean, don't," Sam said.
"Don't what?" Dean turned in his seat to face him. "Don't try to save your scrawny ass?"
"Yeah," Sam replied. "I don't need your help."
Dean stared at him, but Sam just tilted his chin up and stared steadily back.
"You're not thinking straight-" Dean began.
"I'm sure as hell thinking straighter than you."
"Sammy, just-"
"I said, I don't need your frickin' lousy help."
Dean blinked, then looked down at his hand that was still clutching Sam's. He let go and moved his hand away to rest in his lap. Then he raised his eyes to Connor. "I'll get the strap."
"No, Sam's first," Connor replied. "Go wait in the bathroom."
Dean rose to his feet, and Connor could see the struggle as he avoided glancing aside at Sam before finally turning away.
Once the door to the bathroom closed behind Dean's back, Sam seemed to deflate, his harsh façade dissolving.
"I know what you were doing," Connor said.
"He shouldn't take the blame when it was my fault," Sam replied. "And he shouldn't feel guilty that I'm getting punished. It really wasn't on him."
"You didn't have to hurt his feelings."
"You have a better idea how to make him stop when he's riled up like that?" Sam retorted. He was doing his best to sneer, but the tremble in his voice ruined the impression. "Anyway, you can spank me for that, too, while you're at it."
I think I will, but Connor didn't say that out loud; no need to get his kid brother even more unnerved. Instead, he moved to sit on the sofa. Sam got up, taking a step backwards and away from him. Connor would have grabbed for him if he thought Sam was going to bail, but he was sure that he wasn't.
"Get 'em down," Connor said.
"Can't I keep my underw--"
"No."
While Sam started fumbling with his jeans button and zipper, Connor's eyes stumbled upon the discarded heap of knickknacks the boys had purchased at the garage sale. Sam already started to push down his clothes, but his hands froze as Connor reached for the pile on the coffee table.
"What… what are you doing?" He asked weakly.
Connor examined the hairbrush he had picked up; the bristles were partly gone, which was probably why the owners were getting rid of it. But it was wood, and even though it wasn't thick, it felt solid. Connor smacked it against his palm; it produced a satisfying sound and an even more satisfying sting.
Connor looked up at Sam's eyes, now huge with dread. "Get over here."
Sam looked at him, at the brush, back at Connor. "You're not- are you gonna use that?"
"Yes."
Sam took another little step back. He might not have been aware he was doing it, but Connor's muscles tensed, ready to leap in case Sam would actually be so stupid as to try and run.
"You don't need it," Sam's voice was trembling.
"Get over here, Sam."
"Please," the tremble grew worse. "Please don't use the brush."
Connor wanted to grab the kid's wrist and haul him over his lap, but he really hated having to wrestle his brothers into submission. On top of it all, Sam's eyes were starting to shine with tears, and Connor sighed.
"Sammy, you did something so dangerous, I get chills down my spine just thinking about how you could've been seriously hurt. And you dragged Dean into it – yes, I know he could've said no at any moment and he's responsible for his own actions. But it was your idea, your planning, your prompting. You put him in danger. Can you honestly tell me you don't deserve it?"
Sam stared at him wordlessly, lips quivering. A single tear trailed down his right cheek.
"Can you?" Connor repeated.
Sam stared for a moment longer before slowly shaking his head. Connor nodded at him.
"Get your pants down and get over here."
Sam didn't stall anymore; he sniffled and pushed his pants and underwear down to his knees, and shuffled over to Connor's side. Connor held his arm to help the kid lay himself across Connor's lap and settle with his forearms resting on the sofa.
He was so small, so light, that Connor hesitated for a moment as he looked at the hairbrush he was holding. Was he about to make a mistake? Would it be too much for Sam?
But he wasn't lying when he had told Sam about the chills running down his spine. It would have only taken one tiny droplet of molten lead hitting either of his brothers' bodies for this day to end very differently.
Connor raised the brush and brought it down on Sam's bottom.
The smacking sound was louder than he expected, and Sam winced and let out a little yelp. Connor paused for a brief moment; was he going too hard? But then again, he hadn't hit Sam much harder with the brush than he would with his hand. The brush was supposed to hurt more, that was the entire point. And Sam had a tendency to overreact, surely now when he fathomed the depth of the shit he was in.
Connor raised the brush again and landed it. Sam's cry was muffled now; he was probably stuffing his face into his arm. It was for the best – Connor already hated having to do this, he didn't need the confirmation of the pain he was causing his baby brother.
He kept spanking at an even pace, making sure to pay attention to the force of the swats and to Sam's reactions. He went a little lighter than he would with just his hand, but not by much. He wanted Sam to feel it, and to remember.
The brush left dark pink marks on Sam's skin with each swat. It didn't take long for Connor to cover all of the kid's ass and go for a second round. Beside the stifled noises, Sam was taking it pretty well – he wasn't trying to get up or reach back with his hand. As the smacks Connor was heaping on his bottom turned his skin deeper red, Sam's legs started kicking and his sobs became more intense. With his left hand holding onto Sam's waist, Connor could feel his rapid breathing and decided to bring it home.
He laid a series of harder swats, concentrating on Sam's sit-spots and the part where his butt curved into his thigh. He considered giving Sam a few spanks on his thighs as well, but the kid was so thin, it might not be a good idea.
Connor finished with a couple of sound swats to the fleshy part of his brother's bottom. Sam was crying, his ribs pushing against Connor thighs with his panting whimpers. Connor put the brush down and started rubbing Sam's back. Sam began crying harder, maybe realizing the punishment was over and letting it all out.
"It's okay, buddy," Connor murmured. "It's okay, we're done."
The motion of his hand was rocking Sam slightly, and he could feel the kid's body relaxing into the touch. Connor kept rubbing until he judged Sam had calmed down enough to get up.
He helped the kid to his feet and pulled up his pants; then took Sam in his arms and let him lean against his chest. Sam clung to him, fisting his hands into Connor's shirt and leaning his head on Connor's shoulder.
Connor held Sam and listened to his quiet sniffling. He didn't want to rush his brother – Sam still had to face Dean when they switched places.
At last Sam spoke. "I'm really sorry."
Connor raised a hand to run his fingers through Sam's hair. "I know you are."
"Can you give Dean a break? It wasn't his fault."
His voice was so small and pleading, that Connor hugged him a little closer. "No can do, buddy."
"But why? It was my idea, you said so yourself. My planning, my-"
"Sammy," Connor didn't raise his voice, but he let his tone get the tiniest bit harder, and Sam fell silent. "It's not up for debate. I understand how things went down, and that you orchestrated it; this was why you got that hairbrush. But Dean could have either stopped you or come to me, and he did neither."
Sam remained quiet for a moment longer and then whispered, "He's gonna hate me."
"He's not gonna hate you. You're his little brother, he'll do anything for you, no matter what."
Sam's voice was barely audible now. "How do you know that?"
Connor smiled and leaned his cheek against Sam's head. "Because I've got two of you pains-in-the-ass little brothers, I'm an expert."
He couldn't see Sam's face, but he was sure the kid was smiling – it was just another part of his big-brother expertise.
Sam sniffled one more time and pulled away from Connor's embrace. He wiped an arm across his face and then looked up. Connor nodded at him. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Sam glanced at the bathroom's closed door, then back at Connor. "So you're not gonna go easier on him?"
"No. And he wouldn't want me to, either," Connor got to his feet. "Come on, you'll wait in the bathroom."
He started walking, feeling rather than hearing Sam dragging his feet behind him. He got to the bathroom door, and rapped on it. It opened even before he lowered his hand.
Dean stepped onto the threshold, almost shoving Connor aside. Connor reached his arm out and ensnared Dean in his path. "No talking. Sam, get inside."
"I just wanna check on him," Dean said. "Sammy, are-"
"He's fine," Connor moved out of the way, pulling Dean with him and away from their brother. "Walking on his own two feet and everything. Sam, bathroom, move."
As Sam snuck around them to get to the open door, Connor spun, still holding Dean and keeping himself between his two younger brothers. He only let go of Dean when he heard the bathroom door closing.
Dean stumbled back a step and glared at Connor. "Jesus, I Just wanted to talk to him, the fuck's wrong with you?!"
"And I said no talking, the fuck's wrong with you?"
Dean snorted. "Wanting to make sure my little brother is okay means there's something wrong with me?"
"You could've prevented him from getting into this in the first place, then you wouldn't have to make sure he was okay after he was punished for it."
Dean snorted again, but he didn't seem to have a good comeback. That was fine, Connor was tired of talking.
"Come over here," he said, walking over to the sofa. He heard Dean moving, but it didn't sound like the kid was following him. Connor turned to see him heading for his duffel bag. "Dean," he said.
Dean glanced at him. "I'm getting the strap."
"You don't need it. Come here."
Dean frowned at him, but obeyed without backtalk – until he saw Connor sitting down and picking up the hairbrush.
"What the fuck's this?" Dean asked. "Is that the junk Sam bought at the place?"
"Yeah. It seemed appropriate to tan your hides with it."
"Hides? As in, plural? You spanked Sam with this?!" Dean's voice started to rise.
"Yeah, I did."
Dean's eyes were practically blazing. "You what?! You hit him with a hairbrush?! What the fuck, are you fucking insane?!"
Connor was getting pretty tired of that, too. He sat up tall and fixed Dean with a hard stare. "Enough already. I didn't hurt him, and honestly, it offends me that you'd even consider the possibility of me ever doing that. I spanked him with a hairbrush because he earned it, and I'd do the same each and every time if need be. So shut the hell up and get your ass over here, right now."
He injected enough of Dad's growl into his voice to make Dean wince, but he still wasn't sure if it was sufficient to overcome the kid's stubbornness; Dean looked livid over the stupid hairbrush ordeal.
Connor almost sighed with relief when Dean finally got moving and came to stand by his side.
"That thing's no match for the strap," he said. "You want to keep us here all day?"
"We'll see about that. Drop 'em."
Dean grumbled something under his breath, but proceeded to push down his pants. He had opted for sweatpants when changing out of his muddy clothes, probably already anticipating how this was going to end once Connor learned of what he and Sam were up to.
He started to bend over Connor's lap, and Connor held his arm to maneuver him, getting Dean over his left thigh and trapping both of Dean's legs between his own. He usually didn't do this if Dean wasn't resisting, and he could feel a little bit of hesitation in his brother's movements, as if Dean wasn't fully understanding what Connor was getting at. But at last he settled down, and Connor swept the tail of his Henley up and wrapped his left arm around Dean's waist, locking him in place.
He had a reason for wanting Dean in this position; the kid wasn't completely off the mark when he doubted the brush's efficiency – it might indeed be less impactful than the heavy leather strap Dean was used to. But holding Dean like he did, Connor only needed to pull the kid's upper body a little bit while still holding his legs in place to get the skin on Dean's ass stretched tighter.
Dean squirmed as Connor adjusted him, but he couldn't move in his brother's grip. "Connie, what- ow!"
"Felt that, didn't you?" Connor said. The hairbrush left an oval mark on Dean's skin; it was darker than the ones in Sam's, because Connor didn't hold back with his middle brother like he did with the younger one. "Not a match for the strap, is it?"
"Not in a million y- fuck!" Dean's voice became muffled; he was pushing his face into his folded arms as Sam did before. Connor didn't like hearing him cry any more than he liked hearing Sam.
He held Dean's body firmly and started paddling. He had already gotten the feel of the brush with Sam, so adjusting the force and the aim for Dean was a breeze. Not that he was happy about this accomplishment, but at least it meant that he could be done faster with the whole business.
He landed the brush hard, the sound of wood on flesh ringing in his ears. With Dean's body cinched against him, he could feel how his brother was flinching with each swat, and between his thighs he could feel Dean's legs trying to kick, especially when the brush smacked low on his ass. Connor didn't think twice about applying the implement to the tops of Dean's thighs; his middle brother was bigger and sturdier than their baby brother, his leg muscles built by their father's constant training. He could definitely take it.
Dean wasn't taking it gladly, though. His whimpers, though muffled, rose somewhat when the brush hit his thighs. But he wasn't fighting Connor, he wasn't trying to push up. Not that he would have gotten too far, Connor had a pretty firm grip on him. But he was proud of Dean for not making this more difficult than it had to be.
He went for another round on Dean's ass, and then another. He wasn't sure if Dean was outright crying, the kid was keeping his voice hushed, but with the vigor with which Connor was applying the hairbrush, he wouldn't blame Dean one bit if he wasn't able to stay stoic.
Despite the position Connor had put Dean in and the force of the smacks, Connor still had a little doubt about the efficiency of the brush compared to the strap. Yet he didn't want to let this doubt make him take the punishment too far. His arm was starting to get tired as it was, so Connor took it as a sign to finish.
As he did with Sam, he laid the last swats on Dean's sit-spots, then put the brush back on the table and released his hold on his brother.
Dean stayed over his knee, face hidden in his arms, shoulders trembling. Connor rubbed his back, listening to the gasping sobs Dean still kept mostly stifled with his arms wrapped around his head so tightly, Connor wasn't sure how he was getting enough air.
It took a few minutes more before Dean started shifting, and Connor held his arm – much more gently this time – and helped him up. He got to his feet and gathered his brother in his arms as soon as the kid was done pulling his pants up. Dean curled into him, still sniffling, his fingers fisting into Connor's shirt much like Sam had done just a short while ago.
Connor hugged him, as tight as he had restrained him before, and rested his head against Dean's. Dean was taller and bigger than Sam, but he was still small enough for Connor to engulf in his embrace. Not for long, probably; although Connor would love to cuddle his little brothers for as long as they would let him.
Dean let him do that for a surprisingly long time, then pulled back. He wiped his face with his sleeve and looked up at Connor.
"I'm sorry for all the mess," he said. "For not stopping Sam's dumb plan, for putting us in danger, and for ruining the camping stove. And I'm sorry you had to deal with everything after working all day, you didn't deserve it. I should've done a better job holding the fort. And… and I'm sorry I sassed you before."
Connor reached to pat the side of Dean's face, rubbing his thumb over the freckled cheek. "You're forgiven, clean slate."
Dean smiled, a tiny, hesitant smile. "Can I let Sam out?"
"Yeah."
Connor watched him go over to the bathroom and knock on the door, and then turned away and stretched. All of today's exertions, physical and emotional, seemed to weigh on him like a huge knapsack. But he still needed to make dinner and get at least some of the mess in the room taken care of. He might need to run to the laundromat-
"Connie?"
He turned to see Sam and Dean standing there, looking up at him. Apart from some redness lingering on their eyelids, he didn't spot any signs of distress, and the knapsack seemed somewhat lighter.
"Why don't you lie down for a while?" Dean said. "I'll make dinner, and Sammy's gonna tidy up."
Sam chimes in, "Yeah, you should rest, we've got this."
Connor looked from one kid to the other. Those boys could be such a handful, they could be so annoying he felt like pulling his hair out by the roots. But they could also be so sweet he didn't know how to handle the warmth filling his chest.
"Sure," he said at last. "I'm gonna go lie down."
Sam and Dean both beamed at him, as if they had managed some great accomplishment. Connor smiled back at them and went over to his bed.
He sat down and started taking his shoes off, listening to his brothers moving about, but raised his head as Sam called his name.
"What should I do with this?" Sam asked. He was holding the hairbrush as if it was burning his hand.
"You bought it, you can do whatever you want with it," Connor replied.
"Okay, but I thought you might-" Sam started, but Dean marched briskly up to him and plucked the brush out of his hand.
"He said you can do whatever you want with it, dude," he said, giving Sam a look that would have impaled the boy if it was a physical thing. "So here's what you're gonna do with it."
He marched back to the kitchenette and dropped the brush into the trash bin.
Sam stared at him, wide-eyed, and then looked over at Connor. Perhaps he was expecting his older brother to leap up in rage and go after the newly-acquired implement of doom; but Connor just burst out laughing.
Through the tears that blurred his vision, he could see Sam and Dean gaping at him; maybe they figured he had finally lost it, and that thought only sent him into a fresh fit of laughter. He laughed until he was out of breath and his ribs were aching, and then let himself fall onto his back on the bed, wheezing and trying to get ahold of himself.
When he finally did, he wiped his eyes and looked up to see both his little brothers peering down at him.
"You okay, man?" Dean asked. Connor almost started laughing anew at the sight of the kid's worried expression, but he was completely wiped out, so he just nodded.
"Do you… do you want me to get the brush outta the trash?" Dean asked.
Connor shook his head. "Nah, don't wanna see the damned thing ever again."
Sam and Dean kept staring at him, as if they didn't fully believe him, and their faces were so precious, Connor reached out with both arms and swooped them down onto him.
They giggled and Sam even gave a tiny squeak as Connor squashed them with a bear hug. But they were also hugging him back, and the last of the weight dissolved into the void.