Hello there! Hope your day is going splendid! If anyone has any ideas for other stories I would love to hear them! Reviews and helpful feedback are greatly appreciated.

I have debated all day, going back and forth between who would be more qualified for the task. Sam is deliberate, taking details into account. Dean has a steady hand. I would much rather have a professional cut my hair, but at the moment the three of us are running low on money.

"Sam," I call, walking into the library. He looks up from the book open on the table. "Will you cut my hair?"

"Um, sure," he answers hesitantly. I lead the way to the tiled kitchen and sit on the prepared chair. He takes the scissors and lifts some hair, testing it. "How much do you want cut off?"

"About six inches." He nods and proceeds to snip away at it. His brow furrows in concentration, tongue peaking out the corner of his mouth. Locks litter the ground around the seat in a semicircle.

"Why did you want me to do this? Why not Dean?" he asks after a while.

"Because I figured you would do it a bit better," I answer. I love both my brothers dearly, of course, but Dean has been so busy lately he would likely cut it lopsided. The only sound is the blades closing around the strands of hair. I am beginning to wonder how much longer until Sam is done when the smallest intake of breath is heard. It is so soft it almost never reaches my ear. Then there is a stillness behind me.

"Sam, is something wrong?" I ask, a seed of panic beginning to sprout in my chest.

He says nothing for a minute. "(Y/N), I didn't...I don't... it can be fixed-"

I whip around to face him. "What did you do?" His mouth flaps without any noise. Jumping up I race to the bathroom.

At the reflection in the mirror I freeze in horror. My bangs are cropped above the eyebrows, the back of my hair varied in length. "Samuel Winchester! I am going to kill you!" I scream.

Dean pokes his head out of his room as I come flying down the hall. "(Y/N), what-" the words die on his lips as he takes me in, eyes widening. I give him a glare that causes him to retreat back into his room. My attention reverts back to the other boy.

Sam holds the scissors before him in defense. "You asked for six inches off, so I tried to do six inches."

"Yeah, but not off the bangs! You don't know anything about women's hair!" I advance on him screaming.

"Look, I'll take you to the barber-er salon-tomorrow," he cowers.

"Sam, you are never cutting my hair again! Next time Dean is doing it!"