Dean does everything he can think of to prepare for Sam to come home. He cleans up the living room, righting everything that had been knocked over when Sam threw him across the room. He unpacks their bags, putting their clothes away in the ramshackle dresser. He straightens the bed, takes the sheets and blankets outside and shakes them, then hangs them on the porch rail to pick up the clean scent of the outdoors.
His movements are slow and pained, but he does what he can to get the place looking somewhat habitable. Better to do it now, than to be ordered to do it later, when he'll be in agony from another inevitable beating.
For the thousandth time, Dean wonders how it got to this point. He wonders how a guy who's always been strong and independent suddenly becomes a slave to his own brother, with no point to his existence other than being a thing, an object, for his brother to use.
Hopelessness settles in, and he sinks onto the couch, feeling his earlier injuries in every aching joint. Dean runs a hand over his head, reveling in the feel of short hair again, before he remembers what his moment of defiance is going to cost.
Sighing, Dean pulls himself back up to his feet, not knowing how much time he has left before Sam comes back, and heads out to the porch to grab the linens. Moving slowly back to the bedroom, he makes the bed, and he's so sore, it takes him twenty minutes to get it done.
He's just pulled the bedspread up over the pillows when he hears the Impala pull in.
For a moment, Dean can't breathe, and he grabs on to the footboard of the bed for balance.
Sam slams into the house, and Dean hears him dropping things as he makes his way through the living room.
"Dean? Where are you?" he calls, and Dean shudders. He'd give anything to just disappear, to fall through a hole in the floor and let the earth swallow him. Sam's footsteps are growing closer and Dean braces himself for the incoming shitstorm.
"Dean!" Sam strides angrily into the room, "why didn't you answer me! What the hell are you doi…" Sam stops dead in his tracks, and he takes in Dean's hair…or lack thereof.
"What have you done?" he growls, dark eyes glittering dangerously.
"I…I wasn't thinking. It was driving me nuts, and I…" Dean doesn't get another word out, Sam's on him, hitting him everywhere, without finesse, just raining blows down on Dean.
Dean throws his arms over his head, doing his best to protect his already injured face from more injuries, but Sam seems more interested in pummeling his rib cage. He throws Dean across the room, and his shoulder hits the wall, and he swallows a pained groan.
"Who the fuck told you to cut your hair?! I didn't give you permission!" He grabs Dean's arm and pulls him roughly to his feet. Sam draws back his fist and slams it into Dean's jaw. He does it twice more before Dean is so dizzy, he can't feel his knees under him. Sam releases him, and Dean slumps wearily to the floor.
Sam turns away, to walk out of the room, but seems to change his mind, and turns back around. He crouches before Dean, reaching out to cup his chin in his hand.
"When are you going to learn Dean? You aren't getting away from me. You're mine. I liked your hair the way it was. You're going to pay for this…indiscretion. I have to go fetch some things for your lesson, but when I get back, well, you're gonna learn what it means to be mine."
He stands, and storms back out of the room.
Dean watches him go, and everything inside him gives up and dies.