This is my first fanfic for Supernatural as I have only recently been sucked into the show, so forgive me for how badly I probably portray the characters.
Also, I don't own the show, which is definitely a good thing- who knows what it would be like if I did? Probably a lot less interesting.
...
Sam's going to get a fucking haircut whether he likes it or not.
Dean's had more than enough with Sam's whines and protests. It's like he's a prepubescent girl, throwing tantrums that would rival a toddler's and sulking like a petulant child whenever the idea is brought up. It started off as throwaway comments on Dean's part- a 'Give me five minutes with some clippers,' here, a 'C'mon, Rapunzel,' there. But Sam always took those too seriously, snapping at Dean whenever his hair was brought up, and so Dean has stopped with his jokes, because they're getting them nowhere, and is instead bringing the matter up seriously.
"What's your problem?" Sam shoots back irritably once, when Dean says 'You need to cut your hair.' for what must be the millionth time. Only this time, he's holding up his trusted pair of clippers to show that he means it. And Dean rolls his eyes, because if anything it's Sam who has the problem, not him.
"Because it's not practical." He says lowly, running a hand over his own hair. Dean's locks are nothing if not practical, short and no-nonsense, off his face. "Long hair's a weakness. It gets in the way, it's a hazard, it could get caught in shit-"
"I'll tie it back, then." Sam snaps, folding his arms. And he's dead serious too, apparently; Dean sees it written all over his face and doesn't know whether or not to laugh at the idea of Sam tying his hair up like a girl or grab the scissors then and there, and take all that shit off.
"A ponytail's still a hazard." He counters. Sam isn't going to back down.
"Then I'll braid it." he says bluntly, turning on his heel and stomping out the room. "I'll pin it in a twist or something."
Dean follows him, finds him slumped on the couch and scowling at the ceiling.
"You'll look even more like a girl if you do that."
Sam glares at his brother, and for a moment he looks just as young and immature as the kid who Dean remembers from his childhood. It's one of those times where Dean wonders if the younger Winchester ever did mature, or if deep down he's still that little child whose eyes shone with an innocence that was untarnished, who believed his mother had died in a car crash and not at the hands of a fucking demon.
That still doesn't mean Dean's going to give up, though. They're hunters, and running around, hunting monsters that will grab anything and everything they can is not the kind of profession suited to ken doll hair that blows in the wind and flops in his eyes.
Even when he first came from Stanford, his hair was probably too long, because his bangs still got in his eyes too often. But now, it's grown to his shoulders and he won't let anyone touch it- which is ridiculous; Sam deals with demons, the prince of hell and Satan himself. He risks his life hunting dark, twisted creatures. He gets injured constantly, and goes through physical and emotional trauma- but no, he's terrified to cut his hair, a task which doesn't even hurt and which most people do without question.
"Sammy." Dean tries a different tactic.
"Don't Sammy me." Sam rolls his eyes. "I swear to God, you still treat me like a child sometimes. And I'm not, Dean. I'm not a fucking child."
Dean knows that, even if he doesn't always show it. Shit, Sam can often be the more mature of the two, more conservative than Dean. He sits down and does the research when all Dean wants to do is go out and fight, the one who pleads with Dean not to kill mindlessly when Dean starts to lose control, the one who tries to get Dean to eat food that isn't deep fried or 99% carbs (or both). But right now he's certainly acting like an infant about this; like the bitch that Dean always teasingly calls him.
"I'll make you a deal..." He realizes his poor word choice a second too late and curses under his breath.
Sam flinches, glares up at Dean irritably. "I hate fucking deals." Of course he does. And then the matter's closed, and he's not going to talk about it anymore; Dean can tell, because he's wearing that expression that he so lovingly thinks of as Sam's 'Bitchface' and so he just huffs and turns away from Sam.
"Fine. Whatever. Be an ass about this, then."
But he's not going to let this shit end. He knows it's stubborn, but he's let Sam manipulate him over this matter for some time and it's ridiculous. He's always- well, always when he was in his right mind, and not (quite literally) possessed- tried to look after his younger brother, from when he was a child and John clearly prioritized hunting over his sons. And Sam knows as well as Dean does, no matter how much he whines about it, that his hair's dangerous for their line of work, not to mention just damn impractical; there have been times when Dean has really needed them to pass off as Military Personnel to get information, but no, because no one in the military would have their hair flipping around like a hair commercial.
So a few days later, they're coming back from a particularly exhausting outing and Sam's hair is extremely disheveled, because running through the woods and long, loose hair really do not mix. Twigs have snagged in it, and it's windblown, strands clinging to his face. Dean looks at his brother, and he snaps.
"Sammy. Bathroom."
He folds his arms and stares at Sam, who can immediately see what he's insisting and narrows his eyes defiantly.
"You're not cutting my hair, Dean."
"Now." Dean insists. "God dammit, Sam, you know this has to happen. You know." he jacks a thumb in the direction of the bathroom, and no matter how much Sam clearly protests he's not backing down this time.
"No."
"C'mon." Dean yells. He's not giving in because he knows it's for the greater good, and no matter how much Sam will yell and argue with him for this, he'd rather have a pissed off but altogether more safe Sam than one who might be content, but is also risking both their lives- especially his own- just because he refuses to accept that long hair's a hazard. "Look at how your hair got snagged and shit tonight. It slowed you down, and you know it."
He takes a deep breath, tries to calm himself a little because he knows that despite yelling and arguing being his go-to mechanism, he's not going to get anywhere with it. Sam's face is still set angrily and Dean tries to soften his own expression, but suspects he fails comically.
"At least let me cut half a fucking inch off." He huffs. "It'll still be long and girly, but it'll be better."
It's a lie. Dean has no intention of letting Sam off with hair longer than an inch- brutal, he knows, but he also knows that it'll be a hell of a long time before Sam lets anyone near his hair again after this so he needs to take it pretty short so that it'll take longer to grow out- but he's hoping to try and calm Sam enough to let him near the younger man's prized locks. Sam's forehead creases.
"Half an inch." he says bluntly, not a concession but not really a question, either. His eyes flick to the ends of his hair, curling upwards on his shoulders. The difference would be barely noticeable, and Dean feels a stab of guilt for lying, but it's for Sam's own good.
"Yeah." Dean feigns nonchalance, shrugging awkwardly. "Still be too girly for my likes, but it'd be neater."
"No." Sam repeats, but some of the fight has gone from his eyes. "Dean..."
"Sam, it's hair." Dean snorts. "Hair grows back. It's not like I'm saying you have to cut your finger off."
Then Sam glares at him, and Dean can see he's forcing the words out, but finally he concedes.
"Fine. Whatever. What the fuck ever."
Dean moves a chair into the bathroom and Sam begrudgingly sits, but his teeth are gritted and he makes it clear that he's not fucking happy about this. Dean knows that if Sam's pissed about the concept of losing half an inch, he's going to flip shit when he finds out what Dean is actually going to do, but they've got this far now and he's not letting Sam win. The foot's down now.
Sam's facing away from the tiny cabinet mirror at his own request, which actually makes things a whole lot easier. Dean combs through Sam's hair with a little more vigour than necessary, making his brother cringe and flinch.
"Cut it out," Sam growls, as Dean tugs the long locks sharply back from his face. "You're going to rip my fucking hair out if you don't stop."
"Oh, no, we can't have anyone damaging these majestic locks, can we?" Dean scoffs, whilst his brother grunts irritably. And he looks at Sam's hair, that fucking hair that always gets on his nerves, one last time before he butchers it. He hates to admit it, but it is good hair. And if Sam were lucky enough to have the normal life that he often pines for, a life with certainty and a secure home instead of a life filled with fucking demons and creatures that shouldn't, but do, exist... Well, then he could have long hair. It would still piss Dean off to no end, but at least that would be the only thing. It wouldn't risk their whole damn duty, because they have to stop when Sam's hair gets in his face or caught somewhere.
Sam sits and waits, and Dean feels the tension rolling off him in waves. But this is finally it, his opportunity to live up to his frequent promises of giving Sam a good haircut, so here he goes. He flicks the clippers on suddenly, and their loud buzz fills the bathroom. Before Sam can even react, Dean's free hand is holding his head in place, the clippers poised to dig into that full, Luscious hairline. And Sam squirms, tries to bolt away.
"Dean, no!" He yells, voice almost panicked as he looks up at the humming blades prepared to take on (or, rather, off) his hair. Dean just tightens his grip on Sam's head, fingers sinking into the hair that's not going to be there for that much longer.
"Keep still, Sammy," he knows he's an asshole for it, but he's smirking now because it's actually quite comical, seeing the horror on Sam's face as he realises that he's trapped and there will be no saving his pampered hair.
"You bastard!" Sam protests, still trying to tug his head away, but Dean keeps his fingers locked in tightly, and moves the humming clippers forward just a little, so that Sam can almost feel the vibrations on his scalp now.
"You know it's gotta happen." Dean says bluntly, as Sam snaps half formed protests, somehow marginally less coherent than usual now he is faced with the dreaded buzzcut.
"You said you were just going to trim it, you ass," he objects, trying to elbow Dean in the ribs, but his position on the chair makes the gesture awkward and ineffective. And Dean does feel bad for his brother, but at the same time he is firmly planted.
"It's about time you had a decent cut, Sammy. Now, stop moving so much, you'll make me fuck it up."
Then he steels himself, pushes the clippers into Sam's hairline. The blades hum against the younger winchester's scalp, and his sleek, dark hair begins to fall away smoothly as Dean makes a pass. It slips down in sheets, hair dropping on Sam's shoulders, the floor, everywhere; there's more than even Dean counted on, apparently, because it's so fucking thick and he's only buzzed one line but there's already hair everywhere. And Sam says nothing, just sits in horror, apparently defeated. The centre of his head is now a strip of velvety dark hair standing up to less than an inch, the sides still flowing down and he looks bizarre.
There's no turning back now, and Sam grunts a curse at Dean, but Dean just rolls his eyes and pushes the clippers in again. Sam shuts his eyes, so he does not have to see as his long hair tumbles off his head, but he still feels it happening, the clippers vibrating against his scalp and shearing off his hair, the way his scalp feels bare suddenly. And Dean is merciless, tilting his head this way and that so that more hair can succumb to the buzzer. Sam tries to object once (as if, with half his long hair already gone, stopping now can still salvage its former glory.) but Dean just pauses, utters "Head down, Sammy." and tips his brother's head to the side, continuing the task that he's been threatening to do for so long. And it doesn't take long; five minutes with some clippers, one of his earliest threats towards Sam's hair, really was apt; his trusty clippers take care of Sam's hair in record time. Now the God damned hair is covering the bathroom floor instead of Sam's face like it has for so long.
When the hair's buzzed enough for Dean's liking, he flicks the clippers off, and Sam jumps at the loud pop. Then he turns, opens his eyes, and the glare he gives Dean could rival the intensity of a demon's eyes at that moment, not to mention the amount of resentment lurking in there. Dean just grins back, cockily.
"Happy, now you've chopped all my hair off, huh, Jerk?"
"Of course." Dean smirks, stowing the clippers back where they belong and appraising Sam. He looks different, of course, but not necessarily in a bad way. The hair on his crown reaches to around an inch, and since this is Sam's hair it looks thick and soft despite the length, like dark velvet running over his head. And the sides are buzzed shorter, tapered in a little, showing off his cutting cheekbones and eyes, which right now look capable of setting Dean on fire due to the burn in them.
Sam's hands go to his hair and he hisses when he realises just how short it is. He turns, gapes at his reflection and makes it clear to Dean that he barely recognises the guy that he sees.
"What the fuck, Dean!" He attempts to run his hands through his hair- and then swears again when he realises that he can't even do that, because there isn't really enough for his fingers to grasp.
"You cut it all off!" he glances at the floor, at all the fallen hair scattered across the cracked motel tiles, and groans. "Shit!"
Dean just folds his arms, taking in Sam's new appearance. Yeah, he's unhappy, but his hair is a hell of a lot more practical than before. It's definitely not going to flop around the place any more, or get caught, or even just make him look girly. He looks like a hunter.
"That was the point, Sam." He says bluntly. Sam's still staring into the mirror, running his hands over his hair as if somehow that'll make it grow back.
"You're a bastard, you know that, D?" he says lowly. Dean just steps forward, clapping a hand on Sam's shoulder enthusiastically.
"As a matter of fact, I do know that. And besides, you look good. Like a man, now. Any longer and we'd have had to start calling you Samantha."
"Jerk." Sam shrugs his shoulder away from Dean, and stomps out the bathroom, apparently to sulk. Even though he's probably out of earshot, Dean mutters the obligatory bitch in response, smirks to himself, and starts cleaning up the seemingly endless piles of what was once Sam's hair, but is now going to be thrown in the trash before birds start nesting in it.
When Castiel shows up the next morning and when bluntly observes that "Ah, you look far less 'feminine' than you did when I last saw you, Sam!" Dean chokes with laughter on his beer. Sam's bitchface returns and he sulks again making Dean feel almost guilty (almost), but later when they're on the hunt once again and Sam is able to actually run without a tangle of hair covering his eyes, Dean just grins to himself and promptly points out to his bemused brother that he was right. ("As usual." He tacks onto the end, which only serves to annoy Sam even more)
Cue bitch face, and sulking once more. (Also as usual). But Dean just grins harder, ruffles what's left of his brother's hair and tells him to get over it.
...
This is probably self gratification at its best, or rather worst. I have this ridiculous love-hate thing about Sam's hair where half the time I'm in love with those flawless locks (*violin music plays*) but the other half I agree with Dean's comment in 'Pac-Man Fever', and sometimes wish that Dean would just grab the fucking clippers already. But then the thought of destroying the "glorious moose mane" is too terrifying. Which is why this fic was both indulging and tortuing myself.
Also... I hate supernatural, because I told myself I would never get sucked in. I laughed in the faces of those people who obsessed over it, thinking I was forever immune to the show. Oh, but then I watched it, because a friend insisted I watched one episode. I thought it was no big deal, but a week later I found myself wanting to throw my computer screen down because the show had made me so over-emotional. I love it, and I hate that I fell for it so hard.
I will probably regret this fic come morning. I already regret the fact that of all the more well written and serious fic ideas that have been bouncing in my head, this is the one that was strung together first. Not any of the Destiel ideas I had, nothing remotely deep; just Sam getting a haircut.
Okay, so if anyone reads this, thank you and please let me know what you think. Even if you hate it, I'd love constructive criticism to help improve my writing.