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"Shut the hell up, both of you!"
They did. For now.
John let out a breath and wiped sweat off his brow. They still had four or five hours' worth of driving ahead of them, and he couldn't afford the time to stop and look for a place where he might get the Impala's air conditioner fixed.
It was some real lousy luck for the AC to croak on him in the middle of July in Mississippi, and to leave him on his own with a couple of bored, irritated, sweating kids. More specifically, a bored, irritated, sweating fifteen-and-a-half-year-old teenager and an equally bored, irritated, sweating eleven-year-old preteen. In the middle of July. In Mississippi.
John sympathized with his boys. He really did. It was hot as hell, and they couldn't even enjoy a nice breeze because they had to drive along back roads that brought as much dust in through the windows as they did wind. They had no schoolwork to occupy them – well, Sammy didn't; Dean never cared that much about it – and they were out of comic books and any other sort of reading material because in this damned backcountry, gas stations only carried The Mud Farmer's Quarterly or some other shit kind of local newspaper, if they carried anything containing letters at all.
His sons were good boys, they were, and they usually had no trouble handling long car rides; to have them at each other's throats like that was a sure sign they were way beyond their normal tolerance.
And that was why John hadn't pulled over to tan both their asses two hours ago, but he was almost at his wit's end. He was also bored, irritated and sweating just as they were, but he was doing his best to hold it together.
If they would only shut up.
At least for now they did. For ten minutes or so.
"I'm hot," Sammy announced from the back seat.
"Everybody's hot," Dean grumbled at him, not even bothering to turn his head around from shotgun.
"Yeah, but I'm smaller, which means I have more surface area."
"The hell's that got to do with anything?!"
"I have more surface where heat comes in. And more skin that sweats."
Now Dean did turn in his seat. "Dude, that's not how that works."
"How would you know? You failed half your subjects that last school year."
"I did not! And I didn't fail physics, anyway."
"That's biology, dumbass."
"I didn't fail biology either. And how would you even know, you squirt? Your grade was still doing paint-by-numbers this year."
"They were not!"
"No, you're right, they were not. It's way too advanced. What was it you were doing again? Finger-painting?"
John glanced at Sam in the rearview mirror. The kid was turning red; well, redder than before.
"Sam, drink some water," he said, his tone indication it was not a suggestion. Then he slanted a glance at Dean. "Will you quit annoying him already?"
"He was annoying me first," Dean huffed, but turned his back on Sam and slouched in his seat with his arms crossed.
"You're older, act like it."
"Yes, sir."
John heard the water slosh in the bottle as Sam took a sip. "The water's warm."
"Jeez, I wonder why, maybe because it's so freakin' hot?" Dean mumbled. John reached over and smacked the back of his head, but not too hard. Sammy giggled gloatingly behind him. Dean shot up and started to turn, and John put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him back into his seat.
"Stay, damn it," He raised his eyes to the rearview mirror to catch Sam's. "I said drink the water, Sammy."
"I'm trying, but it's warm, and it's disgusting," from the corner of his eye John could see Dean about to say something – most probably "you're disgusting" – and shot him a warning look. Dean closed his mouth.
"See if you have another bottle there," John told him.
"Like a different one is gonna be any cooler," Dean muttered, and John resisted smacking him again as he bent to search the footwell. He came up with a half-full plastic bottle and tossed it back over his shoulder. "There you go, princess."
Sam yelped. "You almost hit me in the face, you jerk!"
"That's 'cause you catch like a girl, bitch."
"No, I don't!" Jesus Christ, that kid's pitch could pierce eardrums.
"You totally do."
"At least I'm not a half-wit, egotistic, pimple-faced bully who thinks he's a freakin' comedian, but he's just-"
This time John slammed on the breaks and used both the inertia and his hand to push Dean back before the boy could practically climb over the backrest to get to Sam. The Impala came to a stop in a cloud of yellow dust.
"Out," John growled and opened his door. He got to the rear door and pulled Sam onto the deserted road by the arm. He didn't bother checking on Dean; he knew his eldest would obey the order, and indeed the boy was hurrying to meet him as he reached the back of the car. John grabbed his arm with his other hand, and spun both boys to face the trunk. Then he reached for his belt buckle.
"Dad, don't whip Sammy," Dean's voice was terrified. "Please, Dad, it was my fault, please-"
"Shut it."
Dean did.
John laid his belt on the trunk between the boys, as much for easy access as for reassuring Dean it wasn't being used on Sam. He put a hand on the back of Sam's neck and pushed him forward; the kid was too short to fully bend from the waist, but right now the position would do. He swatted his butt sharply a few times, and heard Sam whimper. Then he let go.
John picked up the belt, used his other hand to grab the back of Dean's collar, and bent him over the trunk. He pinned him down with a hand between the shoulder blades – not because Dean was struggling, he knew better than that, but to make a point – and landed the belt half a dozen times on the seat of his jeans. Dean winced on impact but didn't make a sound.
John put the belt back on the trunk, stood between the boys and held them in position with his hands weighing heavily on the base of their necks. "This was your final warning. Cross me one more time, and you'll be getting it on the bare, and I don't care who might be around watching. Is that clear?"
Dean was the first to "yes, sir", with Sam following suit. John didn't let them up yet. He leaned a little closer, and looked at Sam.
"You should be ashamed of yourself, the way you talked to Dean. He's looking after you, taking care of you. The least he deserves is a little bit of respect on your part. And you," he turned to Dean. "Is that how you watch out for your little brother? Are you protecting him or does he need to be protected from you?"
Dean shifted a little under John's hold. "No, sir. I'm sorry, sir."
"I'm sorry, sir," Sam echoed from John's other side. John sighed and took his hands off the boys.
"Alright, we're done."
Dean straightened up and held his hands out to his brother. Within a second Sam was burrowing into him, with Dean's arms wrapped tightly around the younger boy.
"I'm so sorry, Sammy," John heard him whisper. "You're okay?"
"Yeah," Sam's voice was even more muffled with his face pressed into Dean's shirt. "I'm sorry too, Dean."
"It's okay, squirt," Dean held him a bit longer, and then gently pushed him back a little, still holding him with one hand and bending down to wipe his face with the other. Dean smiled at him, and Sam smiled back. Then Dean turned to lead him to the car, and climbed into the back seat with him.
John returned to the driver's seat, settled down and started up the car. He reached up to adjust the rearview mirror, and took the opportunity to look his sons over. Sammy was snuggled against Dean's side with his brother's arm wrapped protectively around him, and Sam's fist grabbing Dean's shirt. Dean raked the fingers of his other hand through Sam's shaggy hair with a soft smile on his lips, and then glanced up and met his father's eyes in the mirror. John smiled and put the car in drive.
"Tell you what, why don't we stop at the next gas station for some ice cream? My treat."
"It's always your treat, Dad," Dean said. "You're the one with the wallet."
Sammy giggled. This time the sound wasn't mean, but light and sweet.
"Yeah, I am. Take it or leave it."
"We're taking it. Can we have sodas, too?"
"Yeah, fine."
"And rainbow belts?" Sam asked.
"You got it."
"And Snickers?" Dean added.
John was about to say "don't push it", but then glanced at his boys through the mirror again and his smile widened. "Sure, son."