Spare The Rod – SN WeeChester fic.

by: sifi.

Disclaimed? – Yep.

Loved? – I am constant.

--

Glenwood, Arkansas – 1987, near the Caddo Gap.

"C'mon Sam let's go," Dean wiggled his fingers but didn't move into Miss Andrea's house.

"Can I stay just a little more Dean? We were just gonna..."

"No," came his flat reply, something in his voice, or rather NOT in his voice drawing Sam's attention away from the lines of toy soldiers on the linoleum.

Dad's probably mad again... he leaped to his feet, crossed half the room then turned and waved, "By Stevie, see you tomorrow. Thank's for looking after me Miss Andrea," then turned back and ran to Dean, not stopping quite right and stumbling into his big brother.

"Are you sick?" Sam asked watching the color wash out of Dean's face as he grasped the smaller hand into his own and turned them toward the sidewalk, his face kinda white and greasy looking.

"You stepped on my foot," he answered colorlessly while guiding Sam down the street.

"Well maybe your feet shouldn't be so big then I won't step on 'em so much," he joked looking up to see if Dean was gonna play today. When he didn't, Sam frowned. "Is dad mad again?"

"Wasn't home when I got there," his words and voice were clipped in a way that Sam wasn't familiar with, yet.

"You look bad Dean... you look like you're gonna throw up..."

Then like magic the older brother pitched to his knees on the grass, his back arching as his stomach contents tried to spill out. "Don't look Sammy..." he huffed almost inaudibly.

"Should I go get Miss Andrea?" he offered softly.

"No!" what should have come out as a bark fell into the air as little more than a faint grunt.

When he was fairly certain he was done trying to upchuck for the moment he sat shakily back on his heels, breathing through his mouth and wiping his face with hands that trembled like an old mans.

Sam felt his mouth turn down, this isn't good. Tentatively he stepped forward until he was at his brothers' side then patted him on the back, "You okay now?" he asked removing his hand after Dean pulled away.

The older brother nodded his head, biting his lower lip as he pushed himself weakly and wearily to his feet, "Thanks."

Once inside the apartment Dean locked the door while Sam raced ahead and turned on the lights and TV.

He shambled to the kitchen and pulled down a packet of pop tarts from the cabinet then handed them to Sam, "You can have what's left of the milk," he headed toward the bedroom, "If dad comes home tonight and asks, tell him I got the pukies and went to bed."

Sam watched holding the packet, his expression puzzled as Dean lurched to the doorjamb and clung to it, "You want soup? You always make me soup when I got a sad tummy..."

"No. Stay away from the stove, remember the rules about the phone and the door and if you have to... wake me up."

Sam nodded silently watching his big brother crawl on all fours onto the bed, fully dressed and simply collapse, Wow... you must got a really sad tummy... he thought and retreated into the world of the Autobots and Decepticons.

Sam couldn't have said what it was that drew his attention to the door, it could've been something as minor as a shadow passing under the crack, but it was something he wasn't used to seeing. His eyes burst wide and his mouth fell open, Salt! He realized, Dean didn't fix the line! Ooooh that'll make dad mad for sure! So in the middle of GI Joe he filled the scooper from the bag of road salt at the side of the couch and made sure to fill up any holes they might have made in the line following the swing of the door, then double checked all three windows.

At the window in the bedroom he looked over his shoulder as Dean made a strange noise, kind of a high pitched, not quite grunting sound Sam hadn't heard from him before. His brows furrowed and he carefully cupped the scooper in his hands as he tip toed to the side of the bed and turned his head to get a better look at his big brothers' face.

There was something tight in his expression though he was definitely out cold. He looks like he does when he eats too many gummi bears... He backed away as Dean's body started to move just a little, which made another sound come from the back of his throat, That's a uh-oh sound...Dean's got a uh-oh? He wondered as his big brother started to move, making heavy, gasping noises now before he simply stopped and soft snores filled the air. Are you okay Dean? You don't sound good... he looked at the scoop in his hands and returned to the living room dumping the rest of it back into the bag.

Distracted easily, he wondered not for the first time why dad wanted salt at anything that opened. It wasn't something Sam usually wondered about, but it did cross his mind occasionally as he watched Dean work through wherever they were staying to make sure everything was as dad demanded. For the moment, he was just glad he knew Dean's chores well enough to be able to help. Besides, Dean didn't need dad yelling at him for something he always did right except for just this once. Dad didn't know much about how good Dean did every day and Sam thought maybe he didn't really care either, he only ever seemed to have eyes for mistakes, not for good things.

I don't wanna think about it, he dumped the rest of the salt back into the bag and jumped back on the couch, munching on his pop tarts and eyeing the bag of potato chips on the counter.

--

"You feel better today?" Sam whispered after Dean emerged from the bathroom still wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

Dean nodded though still seemed subdued even as he swiped his mitt through Sammy's unruly waves, "Yeah... little stiff is all," he nodded eyeing their father sprawled haphazardly on the couch, a half full bottle of whiskey and several empty beer cans on the coffee table. Loud gravelly snores tumbled through the air threatening to make the boys laugh, "When'd dad get home?" he asked.

Sam shrugged, "Sometime I guess... he wasn't here when I went to sleep."

Dean grabbed John's jacket from the kitchen chair and dug into the inner pocket for his wallet, where he took two singles then put the wallet back. Before he could ask Sam handed over a piece of paper and a pen.

'Dad, took $2 for milk.

Love Sammy and Dean.'

He wrote, leaving the note under the jar of instant coffee John would need to start his day.

"C'mon runt, let's go," Dean directed his little brother out into the sun shiny world that couldn't bring warmth to the oldest Winchester.

At Miss Andrea's house Sam turned wrapping his arms around his big brother, just like he always did. This time though as he squeezed his hardest, trying to make Dean see how strong he was getting, he felt his brother grunt and hold his breath while his hand patted Sammy's head instead of returning the squeeze until the younger boy cried, 'uncle!'.

"Boy you're gettin' strong..." he said, again something seemed to be missing from his voice.

--

Dean leaned against the bike rack, his heart racing in his chest as he watched the other children congregating around the doors. His mouth turned dry and sour and again he felt just a little sick to his stomach. Today though he didn't make the mistake of eating breakfast, today if he got sick...

"Are you okay today?" Cheryl Grayson asked timidly while holding her folders tightly to her chest.

Dean nodded, "Yeah."

"Just be good today okay Dean?"

I got a feeling it doesn't matter what I do anymore, he nodded, "I will."

"You didn't tell anyone did you?" she asked in a whisper.

Dean shook his head.

The cute little blonde with the curly pigtails nodded and sighed, blowing her bangs out of her eyes, "That's good cause that only makes it worse!"

John's eldest boy shot her a questioning look, "It can get worse... by lots and lots..." she assured him with wide scared eye.

Well I don't know how, but I DO believe you... Dean thought as the children fell into two lines, waiting for the doors to open.

"C'mon you don't wanna be the last one there..." Cheryl grabbed his hand and pulled him from the bike rack heedless of the grimace of pain that crossed his face with the sudden movement.

I don't wanna go in there, I don't wanna be here... I... I'm... will it make me bad if I say it in my own head? He wondered, I'm scared. But I gotta suck it up like dad says... I gotta be a man and just do what a man's gotta do... that means not making trouble for dad. He's... I wonder if he's gonna be home today? I wonder if he found what he was looking for yet... he let his mind drift along this train of thought while his body moved with the rest of the third graders into the school, and down the hall, children splitting off into their respective class rooms, rushing along, smiling, laughing and happy with friends beside them. Except him. Even Cheryl had gone off to talk with Lucy.

Dad's gonna find this thing and he's gonna put it down, and we're gonna move on to another place then I can forget about all of this. He leaned against the wall waiting for the bulk of his classmates to arrive, What if I just ran away? No! That's selfish! That would get dad in trouble and maybe get us taken away from him, we have to be careful! He sighed hopelessly, feeling a crushing weight in his chest that had little to do with the soreness that racked his body as he shuffled into the classroom and moved directly to his chair where he sat up straight with eyes flitting between the blackboard which had today's reading assignment written in the corner; to the banners that screamed for attention.

Directly above the board itself was Miss McKetridge's favorite saying, "Spare The Rod, Spoil The Child!" To the left of that was another that proclaimed, "Children should be seen and NOT HEARD!" And finally on the right, "SILENCE is GOLDEN!" in huge gold colored capitol letters.

Each saying drew his gaze around the room, as they were meant to, to the next. Directly above the coat rack, "Idle hands are the Devil's Workshop!" then over into the far corner. A 5 x 5 section of the room was cordoned off with a miniature white picket fence around a filthy rug that looked like it'd been smeared in mud puddles, and on the wall above the bright red words "PIG PEN" was another phrase, "Cleanliness is next to Godliness!"

His gaze slid to the far wall where instead of the brightly colored bulletin boards that graced other classrooms, heralding the accomplishments of students and the completion of class projects, moments to commemorate the learning, companionship and achievements of the school year, there were three boards, each one had a famous monkey and corresponding saying above it made from black construction paper, "Hear No Evil!" and the bulletin board below it was labeled, "Ignorant". The center one, "See No Evil!" with its bulletin board labeled, "Cheaters". And the last one, "Speak No Evil!" with its board labeled, "LIARS!" only this one instead of being a plain board was actually outlined with red and white construction paper cut out to look like the Devil, with horns and fangs and a forked black tongue, and the ones Miss McKetridge labeled Liars went into the Devil's mouth.

Dean knew his name was up on the Ignorant board at least four, maybe five times since he and Sam had gotten here two weeks ago. Miss McKetridge said it was because he was a bad listener who didn't know how to give proper attention to his betters. She said his mind wandered and though she gave him what she called 'ample' opportunity to 'shape up' during his first week in class, he was proving to be quite a disappointment. Still, she promised him as recently as yesterday to make fixing him her mission.

Please don't let her be here today, please don't let her be here today... please let her be sick or moved or... I don't care... just please let us have a substitute today... Dean prayed fervently as the bane of his third grade existence entered the room, closing the door firmly behind her and without so much as a glance at the class picked up her attendance book and began reading names.

Twice the students weren't quick enough to answer, "Present" as she called roll, so they were marked absent.

"Dean Webster?" She called.

"Here," popped out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Miss McKetridge sighed and shook her head, "Present Mr. Webster... Present... HERE is what you say when you hand something to someone is that CLEAR?" she asked moving toward the Ignorant board where she once more, inked his name.

"Yes ma'am," he mumbled into his chest.

"What was that?" she asked bitingly, slapping a thick wooden ruler against her hand.

"Yes ma'am," he said more firmly, his eyes glued to that hard piece of wood.

"One more time Mister Webster and you'll be writing that sentence one hundred times is that clear?" she towered over him, only her eyes angled downward.

"Yes ma'am," he nodded then turned his eyes to the front of the classroom in the hopes that she too would go that way.

As she stood over him, her nose wrinkled and she frowned. Dean swallowed hard and tried not to look at her but couldn't help it.

"Mister Webster are those the same clothes you had on yesterday?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am," he breathed.

"Did you at least bathe you filthy little piggy? Or do you just enjoy rolling around in your own filth?" she sneered.

"No ma'am," he shook his head feeling his tummy starting to act up again.

"No ma'am what? No you didn't bathe?" she asked.

Dean shook his head grateful that none of the other kids were snickering, each one of them knowing only too well that next time it could be them that she was picking on.

"No ma'am," he shook his head again.

"And why not? Too busy rolling around in your own filth were you?" she asked archly, her lips pinched tight on her face while her eyebrows spiked into her hairline.

"No ma'am," he shook his head again, "I went home and went to bed."

"You what?" she gasped.

"I went home and went to bed," he repeated.

"In the same clothes you are NOW wearing?" she asked, her voice dripping with icicles.

"Yes ma'am," he nodded not quite sure what the problem was, but definitely knowing there was one.

Her fingers clamped hard and icy on the back of his neck, just at the base of his skull as she lifted him out of his seat, almost slinging him around to the back of the classroom where she pointed above the pig pen, "What does that say Mr. Webster? Or are you too stupid to read it?"

Ow, ow, ow... you're hurting me! he wanted to cry out as her fingers pinched halfway round his throat, making little polka dots dance in his eyes as his head grew fuzzy, "I'm not stupid..." he muttered.

"What did you say?" she grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his head round to face her, "Did you just backsass me Mr. Webster?!" her eyes seemed to glint fury.

"No ma'am... I just said I'm not stupid," he gasped feeling his heart beating in his throat as the world grew fuzzy edges.

"Then you read that aloud for everyone to hear!" she demanded pointing at the saying.

"Cleanliness is next to Godliness..." he complied.

"We have a LOT of work to do with you Mr. Webster..." she snarled shoving him into the pig pen where he landed on his side, gasping for breath in the middle of the filthy carpet. "You know the rules, if you land in the pig pen then you are pig for the day," she pointed to the pink felt ears and rubber nose that hung on a peg on the wall, "Put them on."

With mist filled eyes he did as instructed then sat cross legged in the middle of the rug.

"Alright children line up..." Miss McKetridge pointed to the rear counter where they hastened to do as instructed.

She returned to the pig pen and looked down into those misty crystalline eyes, "On all fours piggy Webster... swine don't sit Indian style."

Doing as instructed Dean could have sworn he saw genuine happiness in the smile that sat upon her features as she wielded her authority with cruelty.

"Maybe if we all help, then by the time recess comes around little piggy Webster might be clean enough to go play..." she directed the children one by one to the pig pen where they were encouraged to oink, squeal and spit on the boy in the funny ears and rubber nose.

It'll be over soon, Dean closed his eyes, lowered himself to the filthy carpet and pretended no one could see his tears.

--

tbc.

please R&R.

thanks.

sifi.