Disclaimer:

The toychest and the toys it contains all belong to Eric Kripke, I'm just borrowing them for my own amusement. (Because Kripke doesn't play with them the way we all wish he would.)

Chapter One

Sam didn't hear the front door open; he didn't even hear it close. He didn't hear the greeting his brother always shouted as he shrugged out of his well-worn leather jacket and kicked off his boots after a long day at work. He definately didn't hear the oldest Winchester's loud, heavy footsteps as he approached their shared bathroom- where Sam was currently glaring at his own reflection.

There was a terrible war being waged inside of his skull as he struggled to find enough courage to do what had to be done. He knew he was about to make a big change in his life. He had been staring at his own handsome features for a little over three hours as two different sides of him fought a fierce battle.

Just as he raised the the open scissor blades to his shaggy mop of hair, he happened to glance to his right. What he saw there was so unexpected that it caused him to jump and close the sharp metal blades over a single brown curl. He said a silent "Thank you" to whoever might be listening when he realized that he'd missed his ear by less than an inch. He watched that one brown curl as it made its all too slow descent into the sink in front of him.

He laid the the scissors down on the counter and slowly turned to face his brother. His brain was already hard at work searching for the explanation Dean was sure to ask for. After finally being acknowledged Dean felt the need to express his confusion. " The hell are you doin' Sammy?" Dean looked so defensive in that moment; his hard body leaning on the wooden doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face scary enough to rival what Dean loved to refer to as Sam's "bitchface".

Sam narrowed his eyes at his older brother defiantly. The combination of Dean's closed off stance and pissed off expression was kind of intimidating, but there was no way Sam was going to let Dean know that. "What's it look like?" He met Dean's suspicious gaze without backing down, he wasn't going to give in this time. He knew what he needed to do- and he planned on getting it done. "And it's Sam."

He turned back to the mirror and reached for the scissors again. Just as he was about to pick them up for the second time that day Dean's low, rough voice stopped him dead in his tracks. "Why are you cutting your hair?" Anyone else would have been completely fooled by the curiosity in his voice. But Sam's well trained ears picked up on the dangerous undercurrent of suspicion, lying just below the surface, without difficulty.

Sam bit his lip and glared at his feet as memories from that afternoon all came rushing to the front of his mind. The mocking faces of the people he'd once thought of as friends; the misplaced anger in Luke's eyes as he shoved Sam forcefully into the wall of lockers behind him; and the humiliation he'd felt when Luke had hissed "Get a haircut, faggot." then walked away laughing, taking his ever-present group of followers with him. He could see it all so clearly, and it hurt just as bad the second time around as it had the first.

He blushed with shame and embarassment as he desperately searched his brain for an excuse to give Dean. He hated lying to his brother,but he couldn't bear the thought of letting Dean know just how weak he really was. If he had his way, Dean would never uncover the truth. "'Cause I want to." he said with shrug. But one glance at Dean's reflection told him that Dean wasn't buying it and wouldn't give up that easily.

"Since when?" He had given up all attempts to hide the suspicion in his voice.

Suddenly a stroke of genius hit Sam like a ton of bricks and he knew it was nothing short of divine intervention. "Since Jessica told me she thought I'd look cute with short hair." That was a lie, Jessica had loved his hair. But that had been a long time ago, before Luke had managed to convince her to join forces with him on the dark side.

Dean's expression changed then. A wide grin that Sam had always admired spread across the face that Sam knew as well as his own. He looked downright smug. "Jessica?" He sounded just as smug as he looked. Sam rolled his eyes, and fought his own grin.

"Yes, Dean. Now will you go away? You're makin' me nervous." And he was. Sam was working hard to keep from spilling his guts and telling Dean exactly what had gone down a few short hours ago. But he had been humiliated enough for one day.

Dean made a face, like he had to think really hard about it. He nodded then and closed the short between them and reached for the scissors before Sam had a chance to stop him. "Sure, now I will."

Dean started to walk away. He turned around in the doorway when Sam said, "But De... my scissors?"

"You don't need 'em anyway, Sammy. You'd look stupid with short hair." He turned again, on his way out of the house and to the local diner to buy dinner. He caught a glimpse of Sam stroking his precious hair and frowning at the mirror before he left the bathroom.

His hand was on the cold metal of the door knob when he heard Sam call out "It's Sam!"

"Sure it is!" he yelled back with a grin before closing the front door behind him.

Dean could clearly picture Sam grinning at his reflection, thinking he had dodged a bullet. But what Sam didn't know was that Dean had seen the brief flash of worry in his eyes when Dean had asked him why.

As Dean climbed into his beloved Impala and started her engine he promised himself that he would find out what had his baby brother so worried and take care of it. That was his job after all.