March 25, 1992

The next morning, Castiel made another attempt to comb the tangles from his hair as he waited for Dean and Sam to tell him it was safe to emerge from hiding. After he'd returned to the shed the previous evening, he'd worked on his hair for a while, but frustration and impatience led him to read one of Sam's books instead.

His mood didn't improve with the book – he found it upsetting, and wondered why Sam had chosen that particular story. And now, working on his hair again, he found his frustration with it had only increased.

When Dean opened the door to the shed a few minutes after his father had left for work, Castiel flung the comb to the ground and snapped, "Cut my hair."

After a moment of surprised silence, Dean laughed. "What made you change your mind?"

Castiel huffed in annoyance and grumbled, "I can't comb it out – it's impossible. And even if I could, the parts I have untangled won't stay out of my face. It gets in my eyes and tickles my nose. I don't like it. I want you to cut it."

"Okay, then. Let's go do it." Dean leaned in and raised his eyebrows conspiratorially. "Hey, maybe you can help me get Sam to cut his hair, too."

"Sam said I shouldn't have to cut mine if I didn't want to. I would assume the same rule applies to him."

"Oh, fine, take his side," Dean said with a chuckle as he led the way back toward the trailer. "Hey, the weather's good. Let's do it outside so we won't have to sweep up the kitchen."

Castiel shrugged and brushed the wild hair out of his face again. He didn't care where they did it, as long as it got done. Soon. Now.

Dean directed Castiel to take one of the kitchen chairs outside while he found some scissors. Sam bounced out of the house with both hands full of small plastic figures shaped like people, but he dropped them in the dirt and came over to watch Castiel's haircut.

"Are you sure about this? Ain't no putting it back once it's cut," Dean warned.

Castiel pushed the fuzz behind his ear, hopefully for the last time. "I'm sure."

"Okay, then. I'm going to cut most of it off just to get rid of it, then we'll go back and fix the rest."

Dean got to work, and Castiel was surprised to realize it didn't bother him. Before, when Dean had asked about cutting his hair, Castiel had been uncomfortable with the idea of the human behind him with scissors in hand. But now that they were here, he found he didn't mind it at all.

What felt like less than a minute later, Dean stepped back and said, "That's the bulk of it. I left a towel next to the kitchen sink. Go in and get your hair wet under the faucet, dry it off with the towel, and come back here and we'll do the real work."

Castiel turned to look at Dean and was startled by how different it felt. His head felt light and free without the weight of his hair. On the ground, the discarded dreadlocks looked unnervingly like a dead animal – broken and lifeless. He stood and headed toward the house, rubbing his head as he went, threading his fingers into the much shorter locks and tugging at them. It was such an odd sensation.

Inside, he did as Dean had asked, wetting his hair, then returning outside with it towel-dried. He sat again on the chair in the yard, straddling the seat and resting his arms along the back. Dean worked quickly, combing out sections of hair and cutting them. The two of them moved almost as one, with Castiel unconsciously shifting his wings out of the way as Dean moved around him without Dean having to ask.

As Dean snipped away at Castiel's hair, Sam sat in the grass in front of them and asked, "Did you read more?"

The strange feeling of disquiet that had plagued him while he'd been reading last night returned. "Yes. The one called Hatchet."

"Did you like it?"

Castiel hesitated. "I don't think so."

Sam looked crestfallen. "Oh. Why not? It's a great story."

Castiel frowned as he thought about it. In the book, a boy named Brian had been the lone survivor of a plane crash in the Canadian wilderness. His family had no angel, so the boy was forced to find a way to survive until he could be found. "Was this story also about a pretend person?"

"Yeah," Sam answered.

"It felt too real," Castiel finally explained. "It made me remember, and I didn't like it." He bit down on his lip in an effort to keep it from quaking.

The snip-snip of the scissors stopped.

Sam looked up at Castiel with wide eyes. "Remember what?"

Castiel closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath. It was in the past. He was fine now. Had been for a long time. "When I first came here. I was lost and alone like Brian."

"Cas..." Dean's soft voice was in his ear, but Castiel wouldn't look at him or at Sam.

"I'm sorry, Castiel," Sam said. "I didn't mean for you to be upset."

Castiel let a corner of his mouth turn upward. "It's all right, Sam. It was a long time ago. The story just brought it back."

Sam's forehead was crumpled up in concern, but he nodded anyway.

The three were quiet for a few uncomfortable moments, then Dean went back to clipping away at Castiel's hair.

"So, Sammy," Dean ventured after a while, "are you gonna let me do you next? All the cool kids are doing it." He snipped the scissors dramatically in the air.

"No!" Sam jumped to his feet and ran back over to the toys he'd dumped in the gravel and dirt of the driveway. He picked up a few of the figures and began arranging them to play, all the while shooting glances back toward Dean, as if he thought his brother might sneak up behind him and cut his hair anyway.

Dean worked quietly after that, and Castiel let his thoughts wander over the last few days. He'd grown to trust these two humans more than he would have believed possible. He even thought he might like them, which was bizarre beyond imagining. Liking humans. Well, two of them anyway. Castiel's eyes drifted closed. He was getting surprisingly used to being touched. It was actually sort of nice to have Dean preen his hair.

"Done," Dean announced, as he brushed the stray bits of hair from the back of Castiel's neck with a towel.

Castiel reached up with both hands, combing his fingers through the short strands and scratching at his scalp. "It feels so strange." He shook his head and tipped it forward and back. He felt light and airy, but also oddly chilly as the breeze touched his ears and neck.

"Go take a look," Dean suggested, and at Castiel's frown, he added, "In the mirror. Don't you want to see how it looks?"

Since Dean seemed anxious for him to see, Castiel nodded and followed him into the trailer, with Sam scampering in behind them. Though he'd seen his reflection before in water, metal, and glass, he'd never given any consideration to his appearance. But when he caught sight of himself in the mirror - a proper mirror - his heart raced. He stared in shock, not at the state of his hair, but at the shimmering halo that distorted the air around his head, perfectly reflected in the glass. He turned this way and that, but there was no mistaking what it was. Equally horrified and fascinated, he reached up to touch it.

"What d'you think?" Dean asked.

Castiel blinked and brought his attention back to the haircut he was supposed to be assessing. If nothing else, it certainly ensured his hair would no longer get in his eyes or tickle his nose.

"It looks good!" Sam approved, but qualified it as he covered his shaggy head with protective hands. "On him! It looks good on him."

Castiel tugged at the hair that only reached part way down his forehead now, and met Dean's eyes in the mirror. "Thank you, Dean. It's much better this way."

Dean beamed.

Hatchet is by Gary Paulsen