AN: Wrote this a year ago and promptly forgot about it. Enjoy!

The trouble started right away, but oddly enough it wasn't from Sam.

Dean had expected his brother to start quarreling and arguing with their dad right away, but Sam was quiet through most of the day.

They spent an hour walking around the commune.

It was large and roomy, stark but comfortable. Upstairs there were rows of dorms rooms. Ellen and John had each taken one of opposite sides of the hallway, and Jo nodded to the room next to Ellen's.

"That's mine. You guys can have the two on the other side. This place is big enough for everyone to have two rooms."

"But later we might have to share," John said quietly.

"Who else is coming?" Dean asked.

John just shrugged.

Dean took the room next to John's and Sam had the room on Dean's other side. The room had a single bed, a bureau, and hooks on the wall.

"There's a bathroom down at the end," Jo explained. "It's big enough for six people at a time."

"You boys get comfortable," the frown had not left Ellen's face. "Jo and I are going to start cooking. We eat at six."

The women left, and John went to his room, leaving Sam and Dean standing in Sam's room.

"Ha!" Dean scoffed as he sat down on Sam's bed, careful not to tear the stitches. "This is so goofy. We're hunters, not so kind of military operative."

"They could have put a chair in here," Sam leaned back against the wall.

"Do we have anything left to eat the car?" Dean asked. "Didn't I stuff a bag of Ho-Hos in the backseat a few days ago? They might still be good."

"Ellen said we were having dinner soon."

"So?"

"So Dad used to get on to us about eating too much junk food. You especially."

"That was years ago – Dad doesn't care what I eat. He let me drink beer as a teenager."

"Yeah, but he yelled at you about the junk food because he said it slowed you down."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Would you stop being such a girl? We're not kids. And you're avoiding the real issue here."

"Which is?"

"Dan, Ellen, and Jo are back from the grave to fight evil. What do you think that about?"

The next hour was spent talking about possibilities for the future. At one point, Sam went out to the car to grab his backpack. He came back, and rummaged through the bag, taking out a notebook and a smushed packet of donuts.

"Don't tell anyone I gave these to you," Sam tossed the food to Dean.

"I owe you," Dean ripped open the packet.

"Okay, let's start with a list of possible attacks," Sam began writing. "Lucifer, maybe Satan, lower levels of demons, might be even damned souls – Dean, don't get it all over my bed!"

"You're such a girl," Dean brushed crumbs away. "I'm not going to get your precious bed sticky."

"You get everything sticky. The steering wheel smells like barbeque sauce and is tacky under your hands."

"You're tacky," Dean retorted.

Sam went back to his list, but Dean fell asleep, the half-eaten package of donuts still in his hand.

A loud ringing noise woke Dean a few hours later.

"Wh-what?" he said up.

"I think it's the dinner bell," Sam sat.

"They have a bell?" Dan pushed himself up on an arm. "They're taking this whole thing a little far. Wait, what did you do while I slept?"

"I took the stuff I needed from car and put it in here."

Dean looked over the room. Sam had lined up shoes under the hooks and hung his jackets and coats from the hooks. He had lined up weapon by size on top of the bureau, and the weapon to big or long to fit on top, were propped up against the wall. Books were stacked in the corner.

"I'm going to ask if I can get a shelf to hang so I can get the books off the floor," Sam said. "I put your stuff in your room, but I didn't know how you wanted to arrange it so I just stacked it in the middle."

"Are you possessed? You never were this neat before."

Sam looked like he might explain, but then he just shrugged. "I think we should be prepared. Let's go eat."

The mess hall was an empty room with two windows, a big table, and eight chairs around it. John sat at the head, and Ellen was putting the last plate on the table when Dean and Sam came in.

"You boys get settled in?" John asked as they sat down.

"I got everything out of the car and arranged in my room," Sam said. "Do we have any extra shelves that I could have? I need to get my books up off the floor."

Dean froze, staring at his brother. He couldn't remember the last time Sam had ever spoken so respectfully to their father before. He actually asked for something without sounding sarcastic, annoyed, or pissed off.

"Sure," John said. "We have a few extra, I think."

"If I could have a desk and a chair in my room that would be great, too."

John shook his head. "No, we're setting up a downstairs room for studying. I don't mind if you have a few books in there, but your room is for sleeping, not studying all night."

Dean braced himself for the explosion. He could see the resentment flicker over Sam's face, could see his brother trying to control his temper, could imagine the frustration that was about to break forth.

Sam swallowed and in a tight voice asked, "Where's Jo?"

"She's out finished her PT," Ellen sat the last bowl on the table. "Girl wanted to start in right away like she's some kind of – wait!" she reached out and swatted Dean's hand as he reached for food.

"What?" Dean protested.

"We're waiting for grace," she said.

"We're not a praying family," Dean said.

"We are now," Ellen sat down and took John's hand and Sam's.

Dean scowled but grabbed Sam's hand and John's. "Pray so we can eat."

John gave a short grace, and then they started eating.

The food was not fancy and half of it was vegetables to Dean's disgust. He took some of everything, just like Sam did, but Dean had no intention of eating broccoli or lima beans, even with cheese topping or butter sauce.

"Hey," Jo came in, her hair and clothes soaked with sweat and rain. "Oh, I'm starving! That obstacle course is rough. It took me five tries to climb the wall."

"Sit down and eat before it gets cold," Ellen said shortly.

Dean watched the other people around the table, realizing that of the five of them, they had all died and been brought to life one way or another. He and his dad had been to hell – he wondered if John remembered that. And the others – where had they been?

"Where's Cas?" Dean asked.

"Castiel left," John said. "He said he had other matters to attend to."

"Well, when is he coming back?"

No answer.

"What is he trying to do here? Is he rallying other angels?"

Still no answer.

"Would someone please give me some answers?" Dean raised his voice slightly. "I am not going to stick around here without knowing what is going and neither is Sam. We need answers."

"None of us have answers," Ellen said.

Dean couldn't get anymore answers out of anyone, and even as Sam went to help with dishes at Ellen's request. John wouldn't say much and after a few prods that John refused to acknowledge, Dean gave up and went to his room. He almost tripped over stuff as he went in, but instead of cleaning up, he got out Sam's computer that he had "borrowed" and spent the next few hours surfacing the web.

At eleven, everyone went to bed, and John stood in the doorway, framed by the light from the door. "Go to bed, son."

"Almost through," Dean didn't take his eyes off the screen.

"How's your stitches?"

"Barely feel them."

"Well, go to sleep so they have more time to heal up. We're going to start PT early."

"Oaky," Dean nodded.

John seemed to be about to say something, but he just left. Dean wriggled down until he was nearly flat and kept looking at the pictures of the smiling, barely-clad women. He expected Sam to come and demand his computer back, but Sam never came.

A loud clanging noise woke him in the darkness.

5:15 his clock read.

"You got to be kidding me," Dean rolled on his side and buried his face in his pillow. "I'm not getting up this early."

He had almost drifted off, when Sam stuck his head in. "Dude, get up. Dad wants us to train for an hour before breakfast. Ellen's already cooking, and Jo's on the field. She's sore, but Ellen gave her some ibuprofen. Get up."

"Can't," Dean mumbled into the pillow. "My stitches hurt too much."

Sam hesitated, and then left. He came back a few minutes later and said, "Dad says you can skip this morning, but he wants you to change the bandages and clean your room up."

Dean raised his hand and gave a thumbs-up. He thought he heard the training going on outside, but he soon drifted off to sleep.

The day was awful. It rained outside, and Sam, Jo, and John were tired from PT at lunch, and Ellen still seemed upset, and Dean was already sick of all the nonsense. He felt his frustration mounting; yeah, most of the stuff they had to do was similar to the training John had enforced when they were growing up, but somehow all the training seemed really, really important and worthwhile when Dean was fifteen. Now . . . it was like having to go back to high school or middle school and learn crap he had already learned once.

That afternoon, John announced more training, and Dean claimed a headache. No one really seemed to believe him, but nothing was said even though John looked at him with warning in his eyes.

Dean went to look at more porn, but the hours crawled by and there was nothing to do but work on the compound which Dean did not plan to start.

"Stupid," Dean looked out from the window as Jo and Sam ran together. Sam had slowed his long legs to match Jo's pace, and she was panting hard, her chest heaving up and down as her ponytail bounced. Not a bad view, but Dean braced his hands on the sill as he watched.

"You've been quiet," a voice commented from the doorway.

Ellen stood in the doorway, her arms crossed.

"I thought you'd like it," Dean looked back outside. "You want everyone to shut up, right?"

"Don't take that tone with me. I'm here to check your bandages."

"They're fine."

Ellen took a short breath as if she was going to lay into him, but instead she turned and left.

To his almost complete surprise, Dean felt a wave of rage rise up inside him. He wanted to strike someone, to lash out and hit something as hard as he could.

The obvious answer was to go out and exercise with Sam and Jo, but Dean thought he would rather rip his stitches out and scream with the pain.

Sam came up right before supper, red and ruddy from all the exercise and almost covered in mud. "Geez, Dad is one hard son of a bitch. If he wasn't doing it with us, I'd be just laying into him like the old days. Here's hoping his age catches up with him eventually. But I guess getting brought back to life gives him new energy or something. What's up with you?"

"Nothing."

"You didn't change the bandages," Sam commented as he grabbed a towel.

"Piss off."

"What a whiner. I'm telling Dad."

Sam was smiling, and most likely teasing, too high on the endorphins of hard exercise to really be in a bad mood, but Dean would have sworn he was smirking in that annoying, arrogant, bitch way of his.

Before he could stop himself, Dean actually was in front of his brother, shoving him backwards.

Sam stumbled a few steps, and the smile disappeared. "What was that? You want to fight? Are you possessed?"

"Maybe," Dean loosened up his shoulders. "Or maybe I'm done with this ridiculousness. We're hunters, not cadets at bootcamp."

"You of all people don't want to follow Dad's every whim?" Sam's eyes widened. "You tired of being his good little soldiers? You, his obedient son?"

"Shut up," Dean turned away, irritated.

"It's like we've switched bodies," Sam shook his head as he headed down the hall. "Oddly enough, I'm still taller."

Sam ducked out of the way, and Dean's shoe hit the wall beside him. Sam stooped to pick it up, and when he straightened, John was at the end of the hall.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing," Sam tossed Dean's shoe back in his room and started towards the showers. "Your favorite son is in mood. I almost died on that last round – I don't remember running being that hard."

"You'll be fine. Get cleaned up."

Sam waited until his father was out of ear's reach before quipping, "Your concern is touching as always."

At supper, Ellen served them in her silent way, and Sam started eating as if he was starving. Jo ate too, but her eyelids kept fluttering down and she jerked several times in her chair, trying to stay awake.

Dean stared at the plate on his food mutinously.

"Eat," John told him shortly.

"I'm not hungry."

"Eat it. Ellen made it, and we're not complaining about her cooking."

Dean ate a bite of green beans and chewed them, trying not to grimace.

"Really, Dean," Ellen sat down opposite of John and reached for the water pitcher, "I thought you would be the last person to protest our arrangement, what with two other 'independent' children here."

Jo didn't take any notice of her implication, but Sam stopped shoveling in mashed potatoes long enough to make a protesting face at the tone of her voice.

"Sorry I'm not with the program like you," Dean muttered.

"I thought you'd be happy at this opportunity," Ellen began filled their glasses in a fussy, maternal way that annoyed Dean to no end. "We've always been so isolated. Greater powers have turned us into a fighting team and you're pouting like a toddler."

"I'm not pouting," Dean ground out between clenched teeth.

"Your father and mother sacrificed so much for you, I would expect –"

Dean didn't even realize he had stood, but suddenly he found himself on his feet, shouting,

"Shut up, you cow. Your husband died on a hunt, and you've hated us forever. You wanted us all dead because of your idiot husband who probably wasn't much of a hunter to get himself killed, and now you want to pretend like you like this when you're filled with hate, and don't ever talk about my mother again, you ugly bitch. Take your gross food and shove it up your –"

Just as unexpected as he had stood up, Dean found himself shoved out into the hallway. He was vaguely aware of the stitches hurting in his arm from the sudden movement, but John had a hard hold on his good arm as he marched his son upstairs.

"She was talking about Mom," Dean tried to explain himself as his father herded him into the bedroom. "You can't expect me to –"

"Did you change the bandages?" John asked.

"No, but I was going to –"

"Did you straighten the room like I asked?"

Dean glanced around at the various piles of stuff. "No, but –"

"You haven't done what I asked, you haven't trained today, you haven't done one thing productive. You're going to pull down your jeans, lean over the bed, and take your punishment. When we're done, you're going to apologize to Ellen and let her change your bandages. Then you're going to bed."

Dean flushed and glanced at the door.

"If I have to chase you," John lowered his voice, "I will call Ellen up to punish you as well."

Dean's hands shook as he reached down to loosen his belt buckle and let his jeans slip to his ankles. His heart pounded hard as he bent over the bed, and he felt almost sick with dread as he leaned on the unmade covers.

He felt John pull his shirt up, baring his boxers. Dean closed his eyes in fearful anticipation, and then the first swat.

Hard and searing, it whacked into him. Dean looked back to see a hairbrush in John's hand, and then Dean buried his face in the covers.

John didn't waste much time as he settled into a rhythm, fast and sharp as his peppered his son's bottom with spanks from the brush.

John paused just long enough to ask, "Why am I doing this?"

"Huh? Ow!" Dean tried to collect his thoughts enough to have some coherence. "I – uh – I'm being defiant."

"And disrespectful?" John kept the swats up.

"And that. I shouldn't have – ow, Dad, can't you let up a little?"

"Did you let up on Ellen?" John swung harder and Dean hissed loudly. "I can't believe after she's worked and cooked and cleaned that you spoke to her like that."

"I was wrong," Dean tried not to squirm too much. "I should have said something different. She just pushed me –"

"She did not. You've been surly and difficult all day. I expected this from Sam, not you. What happened?"

Dean blinked back tears and pressed his lips together stubbornly.

"Have it your way." John lay ten searing smacks down so fast Dean didn't have time to catch his breath. He gave a short sob, and John asked patiently, "You want to answer me or do I keep going?"

"I was frustrated at being treated like we don't know anything. Training? We're – we're hunters. We know how to hunt."

"Are you the leader of this mission? Are you the one who makes decisions here?"

"I'm an adult," Dean squirmed in frustration. "Ellen wants to treat me like a little kid, just like she treats Jo, and I'm not her kid."

"That doesn't give you a reason to be a dick," John swatted him twice. "And if you ever call her or any other woman a bitch again, I'll spank you every night for a month. We're here to fight something big, and I'm not having you throw tantrums because you're in a bad mood."

"I'm not letting you spank me again," Dean declared. "I'm not a child."

"Son," John's tone was quiet and calm.

"I'm not."

"Son."

It was quite impossible. Dean lowered his head down and tried not to make too much noise as he cried out his anger. John spanked him again, and the only noise was the sound of the brush hitting sore skin and Dean's muffled sobs.

Then the spanking stopped, and Dean felt a tug on his good arm. He stood dizzily, grabbing onto John's arm for support.

"You are an adult," John looked straight at him. "You are responsible for your own choices, both what you say and do. What I just did was punishment for disobeying me and speaking rudely to Ellen. I punished you and it's over, once you go apologize to Ellen. I'm not going to hold it against you, and I won't mention it again unless you repeat this behavior. If I have to punish you for the same thing, the second time will be worse. Are you hearing me?"

Dean didn't trust himself to speak so he nodded, wishing his cheeks weren't smeared with tears.

John put a hand on the back of his head and pulled him close. "I do love you," John's voice was barely poor than a whisper. "And as I did before, I would still give my life for you."

At those words, Dean crumbled. He leaned his forehead against his father's hard shoulder and let the sobs flow freely. John didn't stop him, just stood quietly with his hand on the back of Dean's head until the tears were spent and Dean drew back.

He got his jeans up and belt buckled, and John helped him to the bathroom where Dean splashed cold water over his sore face. His bottom burned with the lingering effects of the spanking, but the cold liquid on his face helped calm him.

"Do I have to go to Ellen like this?" Dean looked into the mirror at his red, watery eyes and quivering mouth.

"It will be good for your pride," John told him.

Dean groaned softly but he went down the stairs with his father, back into the dining room where the other three still sat.

Sam was scraping the last bit of chicken and rice from a serving bowl, and Jo had laid her head on her arms on the table, but they both sat up when John came back with Dean. Ellen raised her eyebrows, but her arms stayed uncrossed.

"I'm sorry for saying all those things," Dean's gaze dropped to the floor. "I was out of line."

"Yes, you were," Ellen's expression stayed stern. "And I think – eyes up, Dean!"

Dean flushed as he looked up at her.

"I think you owe us all an apology, especially your father."

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry," Dean turned to Sam, Jo, and finally John.

"You surprised me," Ellen continued. "I really expected Sam to be the first one to be spanked."

"Hey," Sam protested, "I'm sitting right here."

"I am sorry," Dean swallowed, "and I – I need you to change my bandages."

"You didn't do that already?" Ellen stood up. "You were told to do that this morning."

"Yes," Dean forced himself to remain contrite, "and I just got punished for that. Will you please change them now?"

"Helpless men," Ellen motioned him to the medical room. "I'll give you a health drink, too, while we're in there. Someone ate all the food."

"Jo ate, too," Sam called after them. "I just finished the last little bit."

John glanced at the table where remainder of his own plate was the last bit of food on the table. Then he turned to Sam who had scraped the largest bowl clean. "There were four chicken breasts in there with the rice."

"Oops," Sam shrugged as he licked the sauce off the spoon. "Is there any dessert?"

Jo had lain back on the table with her eyes shut, but she raised her hand, "Dibs on half the dessert."

In the clinical room, Dean sat back on the medical table and took off his shirt while Ellen got supplies out. His bottom had calmed to a dull heat, but the shame of getting punished made him not know where to look. Ellen worked with her usual dour expression (did the woman ever smile?) but her hands were gentle as they removed the tape.

The cuts underneath already looked better, and she wasted no time in washing them, spreading ointment on them, and taping new bandages over them again.

"Dad never worried this much about cuts before," Dean offered up as a half excuse.

"Dying gives people new perspectives," Ellen said as she went to the small refrigerator and took out a canned drink. She popped the lid and handed it to Dean.

He took a sip and made a face. "Yuck, it's that chocolate chalky stuff."

"Well, your brother and my daughter ate all the food so you have to have something," Ellen stood with her arms crossed so Dean kept sipping. "I've never seen two kids consume so much. I'm going to have to go back to the store tomorrow. If you drink all of that, I'll let you have a small piece of lemon pie before they get a hold of it."

"You made pie?"

"A small one," she tried to look strict, but it didn't quite work. "I thought we deserved a reward for our first day though you've done nothing."

"Yes," Dean gave her his best earnest look, "but I was already punished for that."

"I'm not sure that makes it right, but oh well," Ellen threw away the old bandages and put up the medicine while Dean drank the rest of the health drink.

"Stay in here and I'll get the pie," Ellen told him. "Your father might want to send you to bed, but the kitchen is my domain. He's all old-fashioned about women, but that means I get the final stay about who eats what."

Dean offered no comment at that point, thinking silence was his best bet to getting any dessert. Ellen came back a few minutes later with a much larger slice that he expected.

"Eat this and leave the plate here," she said. "I've told John you've already gone up to bed. Sam and Jo have already devoured half the pie and John's trying to get a bite."

Maybe it was drinking the awesome health drink before, but the pie was the best thing Dean had ever tasted. Cold, sweet, slightly tart with a crunchy crust – Dean ate it all and then licked the plate with his tongue to get every bite. Ellen might be cold, but she knew how to cook.

The next morning every muscle in Jo's body screamed as she stumbled out of bed. She made it as far as Sam's room and stood in the doorway, half-drunk with pain and fatigue.

"I know," Sam groaned as he stared up at the ceiling. "Why did we work so hard?"

"Because we're stupid," Jo limped to the window and looked out. "Ugh, it's a beautiful day out there. Why can't it ice storm?"

"Because the universe hates us," Sam moaned.

"Oh, good grief," Jo rested her forehead on the glass. "Dean's outside, running laps already. One punishment, and he's the poster boy for our fight. I think I hate him."

"Me, too," Sam covered his face with his hands. "And he's not sore like us so he's going to be the best out there today."

"I really, really hate him," Jo turned to trudge back to her room.

Outside, Dean rounded the loop for the fourth time and kept running.

He felt great.