Rule Number 3: Remind Sam to cut his hair when it gests too long
Sam trudged through the thick-growth forest behind his father and brother. The fourteen-year old walked with his head bowed, watching the ground so he wouldn't trip over a tree root or exposed rock.
"Hurry up, Sammy," Dean's voice spoke suddenly from ahead of the boy and he looked up, brushing his long bangs away from his eyes.
From over Dean's shoulder, the ninth-grader caught sight of their father's disapproving glare. Sam bristled and hunched his shoulders, wondering what the hell was pissing John off now. Recently everything about Sam seemed to annoy John, from the fact that he actually did his homework to the way he talked.
Sam didn't know why his Dad had suddenly decided to find fault with everything about him. He wasn't intentionally trying to press his father's buttons; it was John who was changing, not him.
Sighing, the fourteen-year old followed along behind his brother and father obediently, clutching his pistol filled with silver bullets tightly in one hand. Although he had a flashlight it was turned off and shoved into the pocket of his jacket, a precaution against being targeted by their target.
It wasn't even dark yet, the sun only beginning to set but John had insisted on heading into the woods before night fell so that they would be in position for when the werewolf they were hunting became active.
After a couple of hundred or so feet, John halted and turned to his sons.
"Dean, you take Sam and head to the east," the eldest Winchester instructed, "Keep your brother close and the Walkie-Talkie at hand."
Dean nodded and promised he would follow his Dad's orders.
John turned his dark eyes on his youngest son.
"You listen to what Dean tells you," he ordered Sam as though the fourteen-year old was petulant enough to disregard anything his older brother told him to do.
The ninth-grader nodded, to avoid speaking and sounding sarcastic or something and watched as their father stalked off towards the west.
Dean gave Sam a smile and took out Walkie-Talkie, turning it on to hear a faint static sound.
"C'mon, let's find this bitch and kill her so we can get back," Dean announced, "'Death Wish' is on TV tonight."
Sam smiled and shook his head. He walked along beside Dean as his brother began moving again, heading in the opposite direction their father had taken.
W
"M-Maybe Dad's got it already?" Sam asked, trying to keep from panting and failing.
Dean kept up a brisk pace and with longer legs then his brother, wasn't tiring in the least.
Sam on the other hand, needed a rest, if only for a moment.
The fourteen-year old saw Dean's head shake in the darkness, "He'd have called us."
Sam sighed, knowing Dean was right.
It just seemed as though they had been walking for hours with no sign of the werewolf at all. Maybe it was no longer in the forest, but had moved to the town as it had been doing for the past two months, feeding at night during the full moon before slipping into the shadows of the trees before the sun rose.
John had asked around town and had found out there was a woman- a hermit of sorts- who lived in the woods and had so for years. It was only recently, however, that the werewolf attacks had been happening and John guessed that sometime in the past few months the woman had been attacked by a werewolf herself and now was a victim of the curse.
The only thing John hadn't been able to figure out though was whether the woman and the werewolf that had turned her were both terrorizing the city. That was why he had had his sons split up from him, something he wasn't inclined to do as a safety precaution.
Sam stumbled to a standstill behind his brother as two gunshots rang out in the darkness.
"Dad," Dean breathed and lifted the Walkie-Talkie.
"Dad? You there? Hey!" Dean spoke into the Walkie-Talkie and Sam cringed at the hint of fear in the eighteen-year old's voice.
The communication device sent out a burst of static, crackled and then John's voice spoke up, panting.
"I…got it…" he told his sons.
"Is it the chick?" Dean asked and Sam bit his lip.
John spoke but Sam didn't hear what he said because the sound of leaves rustling and branches snapping arose suddenly behind him and Dean.
The fourteen-year old barely had time to jump out of the way before a pair of dripping jaws thrust forward between the bushes and snapped shut inches from his face.
"SAM!" he heard his brother cry out in shock as he stumbled backwards, pointing his gun at the two glowing eyes following the jaws out of the bushes.
The ninth-grader squeezed off one shot before he turned and ran- it was the only thing he could do to avoid getting bitten in half- trampling through the trees blindly.
"SAM!"
He could hear Dean calling after him but he couldn't stop, he could hear the pounding of large paws coming up from behind him.
Oh God please, not like this; Sam thought desperately and cried out as he suddenly pitched forward, tumbling ass over teakettle down an embankment.
"Ah!" Sam cried out in pain as he landed, his long hair knotted in the branches of a low-hanging tree. Sam grabbed at the branch and tugged, trying to pull his hair free.
The sound of heavy footfalls shuffled above Sam, at the top of the embankment and the teen held his breath, closing his eyes fearfully.
A gunshot rang out above Sam and he instinctively tried to duck, only succeeding in tugging roughly at his scalp.
A second gunshot followed the first and the ninth-grader heard a pained whine and a loud thud of something big hitting the forest floor.
For a long moment silence reigned and then Dean's voice called out.
"Sam? Sammy? Where are you? Answer me!"
"H-here," Sam replied weakly, "Down here."
"Sam?" Dean's voice called again and Sam heard uncertain footfalls above him for a moment before Dean's flashlight beam cut through the darkness and pinned him.
"Sam! Jesus!"
The younger brother squinted against the bright light and watched as Dean slid down the low embankment.
"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Dean asked concernedly.
"I… I don't know," Sam admitted, if he was hurt, the fear and adrenaline had temporarily canceled out any pain he should be feeling.
Dean nodded, grim-faced and pulled out the Walkie-Talkie.
"Dad, we got the second one," he told John, "But Sam's hurt."
"How bad?" came the reply, which Sam thought seemed decidedly devoid of concern.
"Dunno," Dean answered, "I've gotta get a better look at him and I'll let you know. Meet you back at the car?"
"Fine," John replied and the Walkie-Talkie went silent.
Sam grimaced and tried to tug free of the branches, trying to hide a grimace of pain as he did so.
"What the heck did you do?" Dean asked, raising the flashlight to illuminate the tangled knot of tree branch and hair.
Sighing, Dean reached out and started pulling on Sam's tangled hair.
"Ow! Dean stop!"
"Shut up, Sammy," Dean grumbled, "How the hell did you manage this?"
Sam grumbled and unintelligible answer.
"Maybe if you didn't have long girly hair this wouldn't have happened?" Dean suggested, trying to untangle his brother's locks as carefully as possible.
Sam didn't answer. He was starting to feel a bit dizzy.
That was another thing that seemed to tick John off so much recently, Sam's long hair. The oldest Winchester simply didn't understand why his youngest son didn't cut his hair short like Dean's.
"Sam? Sammy, you with me?" Dean asked and Sam lifted his head slightly, blinking.
"Yeah," he muttered.
"You're hair's not gonna untangle," his brother informed him, "And I don't think you want me to just rip it off the tree, right?"
"Hmmm," Sam answered.
"I'm gonna have to cut a bit off," Dean told him, "It's the only way. Okay?"
Sam didn't answer but watched as Dean pulled his switchblade from his pocket and began sawing at his hair, finally freeing it from the tree branch.
"Think you can stand?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, allowing his brother to grip his elbows to help him up.
Suddenly, Sam felt his gorge rise and leaned forward, puking.
"Oh Sammy," Dean muttered, ignoring the vomit splattering his shirt, jacket and shoes as well as his little brother.
Without any prompting, Dean reached down and swept Sam's legs out from under him, picking him up in a bridal-style carry, glad that his brother was so small for his age.
Sam, ignoring the vomit on his brother's shirt, snuggled his head against Dean's chest and closed his eyes.
SPN
"DEAN! What the hell did you do to my hair?!"
The eighteen-year old peered up from the television and tried to hide the smile that tugged at his lips.
John had agreed that they could stay at the motel until Sam's recovered from his injuries- a concussion, a sprained ankle and a bruised tailbone- and was currently in town, as the Federal agent he'd been posing as, to tie up the loose ends concerning the werewolf attacks.
The bathroom door slammed open and Sam glared daggers at the eighteen-year old. Dean schooled his face into a neutral expression.
The hair on the left side of his brother's head and a small patch on the top, was significantly shorter than the rest, making it look like Sam had tried to give his hair a cut before deciding he didn't want one.
"You remember last night? You're stupid girly hair was caught in a tree branch. When you ran away from the werewolf?"
Sam stopped and stared at him for a long moment, clearly trying to recall the incident.
"I didn't tell Dad about that, by the way," Dean told him, "He just thinks the bitch knocked you to the ground."
Sam didn't respond for a long moment.
"Thanks."
Dean shrugged and smiled.
"Sorry about your hair," he apologized, knowing how much his brother's hair meant to him.
Sam, wearing a chagrinned expression, shrugged, "It'll grow back."
Dean nodded, telling himself that he needed to remember to tell Sam to get a haircut soon before it grew any longer or they'd have a real problem while hunting.
Author's Note:
Prompt for rule sent in my firstcatfish.
Thanks to StyxxsOmega, CeCe Away, reannablue, HunterChic1807, SamDeanLover28, scootersmom, elliereynodlds777, TheFantasticLadyMax, jensensgirl3, BranchSuper, Shannanigans, and Jenjoremy for reviewing.
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