A/N: This is about as silly as it gets. If you don't go in for that sort of thing, read no further.

Spoilers: None.

"Don't. Don't. Don't. Don't."

"Dean."

"Don't. Don't. Don't."

"Dean."

"Don't."

"Dean!"

Dean's head whipped to the right, to see Sam sitting in the adjacent barber's chair, staring at him with deep concern.

"What?" Dean asked breathlessly.

"You always get the same haircut. She's not going to hurt you."

"She's shaving too close," Dean said.

"She hasn't even turned on the clippers yet," Sam answered.

"But the number is too small. On the clippers. I can tell."

"Dean."

"It's too small! Or too high. Damn it, I can't remember which one is the right one."

"God," Sam rolled his eyes, turning his head to the side as a flamboyant man in a flowery blouse deftly trimmed his long brown locks.

"One or seven, Sam! One or seven. Bad or good, long or short. If she doesn't get it just right…"

"We go through this every time, Dean."

"All will be lost, Sam! She's going to ruin everything!"

"She's going to maintain everything, Dean. Your hair is going to be exactly as it was one week ago. As it was, as it is, as it ever will be. Have you noticed that we get haircuts every week, by the way? For a 'no fuss' look, you sure require a lot of upkeep."

Sam bowed his head with a contented sigh as Fernando began to buzz the small hairs off the back of his neck.

"Ah, that's the stuff," Sam sighed.

"Danger! Death! APOCALYPSE!" Dean carried on.

"Jour boyfriend is c'dazy," Fernando said with disinterest.

"Keep clipping, Fernando," Sam answered, enjoying the electric vibrations.

"ho-kay," Fernando shrugged.

"Not boyfriend! Not crazy! Not ho-kay!" Dean's raspy voice rang throughout the Super Cuts, startling the Saturday morning customers still waiting their turn. "Somos hermanos, el stupido!"

"Dean," Sam breathed. "You're being offensive on levels I can't describe."

"It's basic geometry, Sam. My head is a very specific shape. If the ratio of face length to hair height isn't within one centimeter of the correct proportions, I'll look like Teddy Ruxpin!"

Sam addressed Dean's hairstylist, a middle-aged woman who as yet was still standing motionless with the clippers, annoyance curling her lips downward.

"Just shave him bald," Sam told her. "It'll be better for all of us."

The woman thought it over, her expression brightening marginally.

Dean's face went purple. "Why would you SAY that?!"

"Sir, if you would just calm down—" the poor stylist began.

"DONTYOUTELLMETOCALMDOWNLADYISWEARTOEVERYGODIVEEVERHEARDOF-"

Dean's speed of light rant was cut short as his stylist abruptly hit the lever on the side of his seat, causing the chair back to recline with a thunk.

"Let's try something else," she muttered through a mouthful of gum, momentarily disappearing behind a Japanese screen. When she came back, she was carrying a steaming dark green towel and a bottle of oil.

"Wh-what is th-that?" Dean asked, staring up at her.

"Tea tree and lavender," she answered. "It's relaxing."

And she dropped the hot towel unceremoniously on Dean's face, quieting any further arguments.

"Oh, that's… that's nice," he sighed. His pleasurable groans increased as his stylist poured oil onto her hands and began to massage Dean's scalp.

"There's my boy," Sam said with relief.

"Are jou sure he is not jour boyfriend?" Fernando asked.

"What do you think, Fernando?"

Fernando shook his head, pursing his lips. "I think he is c'dazy."

Dean futzed with his hair in the mirror next to the register as Sam paid their bill. He was sure to tip both stylists generously for putting up with Dean's antics.

"You guys are saints," Sam said under his breath with a grateful smile.

"My mother says she is still a virgin," Fernando agreed matter-of-factly.

"Thank you, Deb!" Sam waved over Fernando's shoulder to where the other stylist was sweeping up a pile of Sam's long hair. He knew she had at least pretended to cut Dean's hair, but he didn't see a shred of evidence anywhere in the pile. "Best Super Cuts in Jersey!" he added with two thumbs up.

"Oh, just get out already," Deb answered with the smallest whisper of a smile.

"Ready, Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded nervously. "Yeah, I think it's okay."

Sam put a hand on Dean's back, guiding him to the door. "You're impossible," he said, smiling.

"Jou do not look like the Teddy Ruxpin," Fernando called after them reassuringly.

Dean's head whipped around, his eyes once more filling with fear. "Why would you say that? Sam, why would he SAY that?!"

He started to make a dash back to the mirror before Sam hooked his arm in a vice grip. "No, no, Dean, the battle's over, okay? We won. It's time to go."

"But, Sam!" Dean pleaded, gently patting his stiff spikes as if to make sure they were all still there.

"Time to go, bro. Time to go."

"Just one more look—"

"Dean. No. Come on. We'll get some pie."

"I like pie," Dean answered, still sounding unconvinced but allowing himself to be led. The bells above the door jangled as the boys made their exit, Sam putting an arm around Dean's shoulder as they walked to the car.

Fernando watched their backs through the window, shaking his head.

"C'dazy."