Ann's Writings

You see, what happened was, John had been paying for things in cash for years. Credit cards weren’t that big back then, but then when they started to get big he started to see the advantages.

Home base for them was more often than not at Jim Murphy’s place. So he sent out an application the last time they were there and the billing address was set for one of his PO Boxes.

Everything seemed simple enough.

Toss in two teenagers to the mix, and you might start to get why he started faking the names.

John places part of the blame on the lack of monitoring in the local libraries that allowed kids to use the free internet service provided there. The other part of the blame is completely placed on his eldest.

Oh, Dean.

When the MasterCard arrived, John hadn’t seen any reason not to allow his boys to see it. Hell, it wasn’t like he had thought that Dean would memorize the damn numbers in a matter of ten seconds.

He really should have known better.

Whoa, hold it! He’s not to blame here. No, that falls wholeheartedly on Dean’s shoulders.

John knew that when Dean accompanied Sammy to the library, the teen spent most of his time on the computer. He had sternly listed out the rules for both boys to follow while they were on those wretched machines.  He knew how to use them, so he knew what those things could lead to.

Except he really hadn’t realized how easy it could be to order things from the same resource. It wasn’t like he took the time to browse through online catalogs for Pete’s sake!

But clearly Dean did know.

The first month of having the plastic money went along nicely. John used it for a week at a motel and to get some supplies. It was much faster than cash, that was for certain. He made his payment when it was due, finding it easier to set aside some money to pay for it when he didn’t need to worry about immediately running out. It was a nice concept.

The card had promised features such as extended warranties on items bought with the card, damage waiver on cars rented with the card, and accident insurance during travel bought with the card. Which, come on, travel? As if the Winchesters did something else! And if he could rent a car and let the Impala rest her wheels for a week, well than that was just a bonus.

John kept careful track of what his purchases were, much like he did with every other aspect of his being a father and a hunter. He calculated how he was getting money to come in and how much he would need to pay it. It wasn’t all that hard, especially after the first frantic month. Not that he was frantic or anything.

In fact, MasterCard kept all its promises. John was very happy. Things were working out nicely.

And then the doorbell rang.

So he opened the door.

And there was the FedEx man, with a package. Because that’s what they do. But John didn’t know that.

You see, Winchester wasn’t used to ordering things and having them come to him. Sure, he ordered things sometimes, but he always went to pick them up.

And then he had to sign for the package before they gave it to him? What the hell is up with that! He didn’t even know what was in the box.

When he did open it, he was very and utterly confused as to what the heck something like that was doing being brought to his house. He had children for goodness gracious.

He tossed the package away.

When the bill for the second month arrived, he was even angrier to see the ‘purchase’ on it. He’d made a call, and he hadn’t been all that nice about it either, but he learned that his having tossed out the package had been a bad idea. Well, he’d know for sure for the next time, not that there was going to be a next time. Surely.

You see, John’s greatest fault was thinking that he needed to keep his children on a need to know basis. It certainly was a whole lot easier than having to explain himself every damn minute, but it made the second appearance of the same damn FedEx man a month later a hell of a lot more annoying.

And it was the same damn package! This time he sent it away and called the people. What the hell were they trying to do, give him a heart attack? Thank you, but he had two teenagers already for that.

The third month, he was arguing with Sam and his not being able to attend soccer practice for the week, that he just paid the damn bill without a second glance. Seriously, that kid could argue why water was clear and milk white and there was just no pleasing him!

John was pulling into the driveway, Sammy beside him, and grumpy because of his new haircut, when he noticed the FedEx man leaving their house again.

Son of a Bitch! When would those people learn!

He found the package easy enough, Dean had left it on the table. John didn’t even bother to open the box that time, much to Sammy’s confusion; he just headed back out and dropped the damn thing off at the post office. Their mess now.

But there it was again in the forth bill.

And the fifth bill. And the sixth bill.

And then they finally moved so thank fucking goodness.

The seventh bill made John think that the whole thing had been a mistake, because that one was all settled. It made John happy.

The next month, they were back in a rented apartment, the boys were enrolled back in school and the FedEx bastard appeared again! Well, not the same guy, but still.

John didn’t even bother to sign for it that time, and the glare he gave the guy stopped him from asking a second time. Then John just refused to pay for that particular item at all. He called MasterCard and a good three hours later when he was more than just cursing at the people on the other end and threatening his children towards obedience or else, he got them to stop the payments.

There, that solved that, right? The End, Neat story.

See, you forgot about Dean too.

That brat!

John and Sam, since he advised the boy to, both ignored the FedEx man. Well, Sammy didn’t really have that whole look down yet, but John returned it to the F-man before he was even back in his f-ing truck.

Dean, at least John thought, was doing the same.

Except of course, when he wasn’t at all.

That boy. Yes, his boy. Well he would sign for them and then take them from the F-man. John, none the wiser.

And this went on. Tenth bill, eleventh bill, twelfth, that damn thing was still there!

And then John received the collection notice.

Yeah, he screamed.

The next month and they were back with Pastor Jim. John was freaking out. Jim wasn’t happy either.

Well, no one really is when John Winchester is freaking out.

But, as far as John knew, at least that damn package couldn’t get to them there.

Except for when it did.

Sammy spotted the box, and he was confused. He had thought it was cursed or something for how John screamed about it.

Which was nothing compared to the string of words even Jim was shocked at hearing from the man after John discovered the box was empty.

Two hours and a few shots later and John’s finally calm but then in struts Dean. And he said something along the lines of heading to the basement for some light exercise training, and that there was no need for Sammy to be there because the kid had to get his final reports done before Christmas and all.

And that made John and Jim curious. Kid didn’t even seem to notice the much hated box.

Which got John curious.

Ten minutes after his eldest had headed down to the basement, John followed. He didn’t hear his son on the treadmill or using the bench press or the weights.

And when he got down there, what he saw made him see red. And some purple and black too because he was just pulsing mad!

There was Dean with a handful of those damn packages!

So yeah, you see, that’s why the boy’s not sitting so still now. He got his daddy mad. And that’s not good.

John’s not even really sure what he yelled then. He just marched right over to Dean and got him up off the seat there, might have yelled a few more seconds and having found Dean’s answers just as angering as he had imagined, well it’s no real surprise that he tossed the kid ass up over his legs.

He used his hand for the first bit, making him answer to the sneakiness with a few concentrated smacks to the center of both cheeks. Dean was grunting and squirming, remaining pretty quiet considering.

Quiet until John stood him up and instructed him to march upstairs and get that dreaded paddle from his duffle bag.

Dean’s eyes were teary and yet that kind of hurt John a little, but not enough and he stood firm and stern and then his son headed up the stairs like he’d been told to with John just a few seconds behind him because it would be pretty pointless to continue on down there.

Coming back downstairs with the paddle sure grabbed Jim and Sammy’s attention. John made him explain himself, ignored the teenager’s groan and his cringe.

Jim took Sammy away and out of the house for an unnecessary task outside and John took Dean to task inside. With the paddle. On his little thief’s bare butt.

He did take into consideration the light pink, almost starting to redden slightly, marks present there. But then he also recalled all the months and FedEx men he’s yelled at. No chance he wasn’t making some kind of naughty list for that one in their books.

In all, Dean didn’t stay quiet that time. After the first five, he started squirming and whimpering. The next set of five brought his hand back there along with a few voiced protests. The final ten lead to his submitting and just crying out. They didn’t make John’s heart feel any better but his pocket felt justified.

Dean was sent to his room, still bare bottomed because he didn’t want to feel the clothing. He stayed there even after Jim and Sammy returned and his brother had headed up to further pluck at his stupidity.

John made a direct call to the damn company, pissed when it was after hours. He then tried and called MasterCard, but he solved nothing. He called the collector’s office, and they were just plain mean.

Apparently that kind of thing becomes permanent if you don’t choose to pay it. Kind of kills your credit status along with it.

So, you see, even after Jim had lectured the teen the next day and both boys had gotten a stern lesson about finances and diplomacy, there wasn’t anything that he could do about cleaning up his credit.

So he started faking the names on the applications, sending them to various PO Boxes. And it was really good.

THE END

 

A/N: I love my FedEx man because it usually means something supernatural related arrived! I have nothing against them or MasterCard or ‘the package’. J