When Sam goes to college, Dean gets a hair cut. The barber shop's small and smells like aftershave, a sharp and distinctive odor that almost waters his eyes, but he sits in the chair, crosses his arms and watches the elderly barber trim and chop his hair. It isn't a life alerting event, he's had hair cuts before, mostly done in motel rooms with a pair of scissors he's stolen or found somewhere. It's the first time he ever gets a hair cut in a real official looking place and god be damed if Sam can go to college and be normal then Dean can go get his hair cut by a barber.
Dean drives around the college town before he leaves for good. Sam doesn't know he's there, his father doesn't know he's there, in fact there isn't a person in the world that knows Dean's driving in circles around the college. He sees kids walk from class to class, some look old and some look young but they all look normal. Dean wonders if he catches Sam walking, if Sam will blend in the same way. He's awkwardly tall, Sam, gangly and long legged but that's not what makes him stand out, really. There's something written in his face, there's scars on his hands and tiny marks on his face that tell ghost stories and when you look at him, you know this one isn't just your everyday 18 year old kid.
It takes Dean nearly 20 minutes to spot Sam sitting by a tree with a group of boys. He blends in with them, if it wasn't for his loud obnoxious laugh that Dean knows by heart, he wouldn't have even seen him. Sam looks different than Dean has ever seen him. He doesn't look like his brother anymore, the clothes he's wearing aren't hand me downs but are new and fit him well. He doesn't look like the lost little kid that used to tag behind Dean everyday, he's laughing and talking with the others as if he actually fits in with them. Dean knows better then this, he really does. He knows no matter how hard Sam tries at this, he will fail. Dean has tried before too, he's gone to school, he's tried to made friends but it just doesn't work out that way.
There's a second when Sam looks over and Dean swears he's staring directly at him but he looks away. Dean follows him the rest of the day, parks his car along other students. The Chevy Impala even stands out there, it's older then most of the cars, dirtier and more beat up then the others. Dean walks along the crowds and stands out there too. He thinks its the gun with rock salt packed into the back of his jeans but how could the others see it. No, it's not that, it's something else. He sees Sam again in the Library, nothing new there, Dean thinks. He crouches behind a bookcase, eases into a familiar pose of waiting and watching. Sam's different here too, he's looking up normal information. The books aren't dusty and in weird languages with odd drawings and legends. He's reading about things Dean can't remember learning about and doesn't really care to know either. There's a pencil in his hand, he almost holds it like it's a gun but maybe not. Maybe that's the way Dean always sees Sam, holding a gun and ready. But after a few minutes of watching Sam just seems to blend in the other students. Dean feels like his eyes are unfocusing and all he sees is blurs of colors and people.
But he's not and they aren't blurs, they are people and Sam is one of them. Sam is normal. Sam can sit there and learn about the history of important things. Sam can walk around without a gun in his back pocket, Sam can talk to other people and fit in without worrying, without being scared.
When it's over and done, and Dean's down $20 of food money for his haircut. But later, before he leaves the hotel, he takes a knife to the ends of his hair and makes it slightly uneven and oddly angled.
It's better that way.