Even as he was pumping his fist, a quick, tentative movement proved his feet were no longer frozen to the floor. He was across the room and tackling Scott to the floor without thought, grabbing the Purse o' Hexes and slinging it away from her before she had a chance to reach in for yet another spell bag.
In the background, Sam still awkwardly grabbed at empty air where Dean's throat should have been. But Scott, distracted, was now ineffectually batting at Dean, and the hair spell, following her hand movements, sent Sam jerking, twitching, and spinning. Dean grabbed at the lock of hair still clenched in Scott's fist, and winced as he heard Sam crash into a display of nail polish. Small bottles tinkled as they fell and rolled across the floor.
"God dammit, woman! Let go!" Dean panted as he tried to pry her fingers loose.
"You! Let go of me, you oaf! I swear, you young men have the worst manners!" she panted in reply, baring perfectly white teeth. She yanked her hand away.
Sam smashed backwards into the desk they had been searching, falling on top of it as it tumbled. "Shit! Dean, get it away from her! I can't take much of this!"
Dean bared his teeth back at Scott, snarling, "Lady, where I come from, it's mighty damned 'bad manners' to cut off people's hair while they're sleeping!" He grabbed her in a bear hug from behind, clamped one hand on her wrist, and squeezed hard. "And then to use it to slam a spell on them!" His other hand pried one finger at a time away from the fist. "If you don't let go right now, I'm gonna start breaking fingers, got it?"
His imprisonment of Scott's wrist had given Sam a respite; he lay (laid?) on the floor panting and making small whimpering sounds; he still couldn't move of his own volition, and the shattered desk beneath him, and its associated desktop detritus, was digging into his back.
Scott crumpled at the threat of breaking fingers; her hand spasmed open beneath Dean's prying fingers, and he grabbed the lock of Sam's hair, holding it up and out of Scott's reach as he stood up himself. He whirled around, took a step forward.
Sam stood up, whirled around, and took a step forward.
"Um," Dean said quietly, holding the hand with the lock of hair very, very still.
"Um, yeah," Sam muttered in response.
Dean angled his head back to look at Scott, slowly and cautiously sitting up on the floor. "Okay, lady. You have one minute. Tell me how to break the spell."
She just glared up at him. Her bouffant hair helmet was now askew, her plump face was red from exertion and anger, and her neat sailor blouse was ripped under one arm and pulled out of her elastic-waist jeans on the other side. She looked much different than the neatly coiffed and dressed lady who had confidently entered the salon.
"Thirty seconds," Dean added when she didn't respond.
"Well! If you're going to be mean about it-!" she huffed.
"Oh, trust me, lady, you ain't seen mean yet. Fifteen seconds."
She shrugged sulkily, and said, "If you must know, all you need to do is cut the hair again." She folded her lips mulishly, sniffed, and deliberately looked away from him.
Dean fumbled at the back of his waist for his knife, still carefully holding the lock of hair steady. He drew it, flicked a doubtful glance back down at Scott, then folded the lock in half, clenched his teeth, prayed that cutting the hair wasn't going to result in Sammy being slashed in half himself, and slid the knife through it. He dropped the hair and immediately focused on Sam, who moved an experimental hand, then a cautious foot, then nodded at his brother.
"Okay, Sammy?" he asked tightly. Sam nodded again, a relieved grin spreading across his face.
Then Sam's grin faded, because he had, out of habit, swept his hand up to push back his hair...and the hair was still gone. He sighed and his shoulders slumped. He resignedly reached behind his back and began brushing off the paper clips and hairpins that had stabbed into him while he was immobilized.
Dean watched him closely, noting the automatic gesture and the accompanying sigh. His lips folded angrily, and he dropped down into a crouch before Scott, grabbing her shoulders. "Now," he said grimly. "Now you're gonna put his damned hair back. Got me?"
Her eyes widened and her lips formed a dismayed oval. "But...but..." She stopped.
"But what?" Dean snarled, shaking her. "Put the hair back, dammit!"
"But it doesn't work like that!" she wailed, hiding her face in her hands, and shrinking down as much as she could while still held by Dean's hard grip.
"Dean-"
He blinked down at her, ignoring Sam. "Wha'd'ya mean, 'it doesn't work like that'?! You got it off-now put it back!"
"I don't know how!" she shouted angrily, dropping her hands and glaring at him again.
"Dean! Stop. We don't need her. It'll grow back. We've got plenty of time, and I can be patient."
Dean was feeling stubborn. And irritated. If she could magically cut hair, surely she could make it grow again? He glared at Sam, who simply held his eyes calmly and shook his head. Dean growled, "Dammit, Sammy!"
Sam shook his head again. "Nope. Cool it, dude. I can wait." He paused, then went on, thoughtfully, "Besides, I'd really rather not have her playing with witchcraft with me as her subject anymore." He shivered and ran a hand over his velvety hair. "Twice is enough."
Scott looked up hopefully, glancing from Sam to Dean, then back again. Dean shook her absently, eyes still on his brother. He chewed at his lips for a moment, then finally shrugged. "Okay, then. But what do we do with her now? We can't leave her free to run around town shearing long-haired folks so she can sell their hair and make them do things to her ex-!"
The two of them looked down at her thoughtfully. She looked up at them. There was a long silence.
