"Gumming up the Works"
Mystic25
Sam has a bit of a sticky situation, because of course he does. Season 8 spoilers ahead. References of SI.
Rating: T for language and minor mentions of SI.
A/N: Time for a lighter affair. Set at the beginning of Season Eight (so spoilers) because that's when Sam's hair was the longest. References of Benny and Amelia, but only very slightly.
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"I went to sleep with gum in my mouth, and now there's gum in my hair."
Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
by: Judith Viorist
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"I've got gum in my hair."
"Oh, we've tried everything:
Olive oil, lemon juice, tartar sauce, chocolate syrup,
gravy, bacon fat, hummus and baba ghanoush…"
-Marge and Lisa "The Simpsons"
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"Explain to me again how the hell this happened?"
"Dean, I already told you."
"Yeah, I know you did, I just want to hear it again, because of how stupid it is. Dude, how did that little girl get an entire wad of bubble gum in your hair?" Dean stood by Sam who was sitting in one of the two hotel dinette chairs. Dean used his fingers, trying to work the large purple wad of chewing gum mashed into Sam's hair from his hairline to the front of his face.
"Remember when she jumped up to hug me after we blasted the witch from the Build-A-Bear store?" Sam's head jerked with how hard Dean yanked on it.
They had just completed a case with a witch, with a weird sense of what was evil. She had cast a spell inside Build-A-Bear store which turned all the teddy bears into rabid, red eyed things like the rabbits in Watership Down. Unfilled bear pouches jumped down from the wall and stuffed themselves on by one at the toy fluff filling station. They flew out and jumped on customers and them with bear sized clothing from the bins, some of them got dressed in the clothes before continuing their warfare. A white stuffed bear dressed like an astronaut jumped out of a girl's arm, and bit her pink high tops, then her bare ankles. The girl screamed; her mother screamed, and Sam yanked the bear away. The toy started snapping at him; Sam turned it upside down so it couldn't reach him. It's hissed and spat and tried to free itself.
Dean had been at the checkout counter with a female employee who helped him hold down pin the witch against the wall. The witch scratched her, and a teddy bear leapt up on the employee's head and started yanking out handfuls of her hair. Dean kept the witch pinned by one arm, used his free hand and stuffed a hex bag into the witch's mouth. He held his hand over mouth while she spat but eventually swallowed the spellbag. She wailed and exploded into a red billow of dust that covered half the store including Dean. All the teddy bears exploded the same way. The one in Sam's grasp gave a comical angered look of surprise before it to poofed into red dust,
"I remember the spell part, But not the gum part." Dean said behind a swallow of muffled laughter.
"Didn't think you did." Sam said. You were busy getting the store manager's phone number."
"Hey I saved her life, she was just showing her gratitude." Dean grinned remembering those agile soft fingers that programed her number into his phone. "Redhead's man," he stopped talking when Sam cleared his throat in an unamused sound. "So, little girl, jumped up to your giraffe height to squeeze the dickens out of you."
"She was gripped hard on my neck, chewing like two square pieces of grape bubble gum her mom gave her so to help calm her down. She wanted to show me how big of a bubble she could make." Sam knew how stupid he sounded but it was the ridiculous truth. "It got pretty big before she leaned over and popped it over my head."
"Well, that explains the first wad of gum, but what about the second wad?" Dean shifted his stance and pulled at another wad of gum that dangled in a sticky clump from Sam's hair.
"She wanted to blow another bubble," Sam sounded completely defeated.
Dean plunged a plastic knife into a plastic jar of Jiff peanut butter that he picked up at the gas station on the way back to the hotel. He spread a massive glob of peanut butter in the front and back of Sam's hair, then worked it flat with the knife like he was applying spackle on drywall.
A blob of peanut butter clung to the front of Sam's hair dangling there like a pendulum, until it fell off and landed on his chin.
"You have a little something on your face." Dean rubbed his own cheek and laughed in a series of wheezes. He picked up the other dinette chair and sat backwards on it about a foot away from Sam's left side. He bit hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing again. "According to Google, this needs to sit for 15 minutes before you wash it out. You want some jelly and bread while you wait?"
"Dude, shut up." Sam sighed at his predicament. This whole thing was reminiscent of the time he got gum on his shoe in Black Rock and had lost said shoe in the storm drain trying to scrape the gum off. "You're enjoying this aren't you?"
"Hell yeah I am." Dean grinned enjoying every moment of Sam's 'sticky' situation.
"You know, you could at least try to not rub it in."
"Sammy the only thing I'm trying to rub in is the peanut butter."
Sam's bitchfaced glare lost most of its potency when a glob of peanut butter landed on the bridge of his nose and stayed stuck.
"You need some help there kiddo?"
Sam flipped him off and wiped the blob off his face; his fingers came back sticky with peanut butter.
Dean checked his watch. "Seven more minutes to go Sammy. Then you can use that fancy shampoo you keep hidden from me."
Sam made another face and rubbed the back of his head, realizing too late that there was gum and peanut butter there, and it mashed its way underneath his fingernails. "Damnit," he pulled his hand away from his hair, and this time his hand not only came away sticky but with pieces hair also came away. "This is ridiculous…shut up Dean!"
"I didn't say anything."
"I can hear you thinking it!"
Dean laughed again. "Where's a beehive when you need one?"
"Bees go after honey Dean, not peanut butter."
"How about a stripper? Bet she'd lick off more than that peanut butter." A peanut butter smelling napkin smacked Dean in the face.
Sam grumbled. "How much longer?"
"Six minutes, wanna play charades?"
"Wanna die smelling like Jiff?"
"Not at the moment little brother." Dean rocked backwards in his chair. "It's crazy."
"Yeah, all of this is crazy Dean."
"I mean, you've been shot, stabbed, Souless, killed more than once, and bubble gum is what sidelines you." The timer on Dean's watch beeped. "Okay, you're fully marinated. Time to hit the showers. I'll dry and fluff that quaff after you come out."
Sam stood up from the bed, muttering: "jackass" as he walked into the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later Sam sat on the toilet seat and Dean stood in front of him. He used the hairdryer in the hotel bathroom, trying to melt off the gum off Sam's hair. He worked the dryer back and forth to heat up the gum; then took a disposable comb to the purple goo. Some of the peanut butter had melted down to the consistency of wet paint. The smell of Jiff combined with the lemon and mint shampoo Sam used in the shower. It made Dean want for peanut butter pie and a glass of lemonade.
Dean pulled down hard with the comb, a bit of purple goo pulled away from Sam's head, but only enough for the comb to stop moving two seconds later. Dean pulled harder; Sam grunted.
"Dean-shit, my hair is attached to my head!"
"Stop being a little bitch Sam, I didn't rip out that much of it. And remember you're the asshat who got yourself into this situation, Damnit!" Dean pulled hard enough on the comb that it snapped in half, and dangled from Sam's hair like someone had misplaced it there. "Hunting a werewolf blindfolded would be easier than this." Dean worked another comb through Sam's hair, this time it didn't break but it didn't come out. Dean swore more than that damnit.
Dean tried combing again, a chunk of Sam's hair came away from Dean's pulling. But more than a decent amount of gum still stuck to Sam's head. The smell of purple bubble gum and peanut butter was starting to make Sam nauseous. Sam started to seriously regret his life choices; not the saving little girls from poltergeist infested white teddy bears part. The part about not making sure said little girl's wasn't chewing a massive wad of bubble gum before the grateful hugging commenced.
"Hey, how about Nair? Straight from the bottle, not diluted in your herbal shampoo." Dean sounded very proud of his suggestion.
"Dean, no-" Dean looked affronted ,and Sam felt a little guilty for lowering the wind in Dean's sails. "I want gum dissolved out of my hair, not hair dissolved off my whole head." He stood up from the toilet and walked back out to sit on the chair by his bed.
Dean followed, and stood behind Sam again "What about using a syringe? I could squeeze Nair just around the gum." Dean turned Sam's head in a way and that' way manner. "You'd be patchy in only a few places, but you could rock a comb over until it grew back."
"Dean," Sam was completely disgruntled. I'm 31, I'm not rocking a combover over."
"Says the guy with gum and peanut butter hairdo. Seriously Sammy I seem to be the only one throwing out ideas, why don't you take a turn?"
"How about freezing it?"
"Like with antifreeze?"
"More like ice, it'll harden the gum so you can pull it out. There's an ice machine three doors down from us."
"Great," Dean stood up and picked up the empty plastic ice bucket from the night stand and plunked it down on Sam's lap. "Here ya go."
"What? -" Sam said, affronted. "Dean, I can't walk out there like this!"
"Like you said, the ice machine's only three doors away, quick in and out." Dean grinned. "Though I saw someone fifteen minutes ago grumble because it was all out of ice. You might need to stop at the front desk and ask for some more."
"Dean!"
"C'mon Sammy, you shot that tiny glowing fairy bitch like a marksman last week; I couldn't even microwave Tinkerbell as fast as that. Compared to that, this is a cakewalk." He touched the combs stuck to Sam's head and the comb bounced.
Sam glared at Dean with a tick of his head. He held up his hands, one fist over an open palm. Dean rolled his eyes but did the same.
Three rounds of Rock, Paper, Scissors, later Dean walked out the door with the ice bucket in one hand. "How the hell does paper even beat a rock?"
Fifteen minutes and one talk with the hotel manager later Dean came back with a full bucket of ice and a claw hammer.
Sam sat on his bed, several hotel towelsspread out around him. He looked up when he heard the door open. "Dude-" he stared at Dean in complete bafflement. "-what's that hammer for?"
Dean shut the door with one foot, setting the hammer and the ice bucket on the table. "Those flimsy plastic combs ain't cutting it little bro," he picked up the hammer palming the end of it.
"So, your plan is to freeze the gum in my hair, and pull it out like a bent nail?"
"Exactly," Dean rotated the hammer in his hand. "Remember this whole ice thing was your idea."
"Not the hammer part."
"Yeah well, I upgraded." Dean walked the ice bucket over to the bed Sam sat on, laying the hammer next to it.
"Let's just get this over with." Sam grumbled.
Dean took two of the towels off the bed, and soaked them in water in the bathroom sink. He dumped chipped ice cubes on both wet towels, tying them in a loose knot. He set both bundles of ice against Sam's head, then wrapped the entire set up in a large bath towel like he'd seen hair stylist do at beauty parlors. They didn't have any magazines to read, so he handed Sam their 20-gauge shotgun to clean while he polished his nickel plate colt. Dean peeked in intervals up at Sam's towel wrapped head, hiding his head behind his hand to keep from outright laughing at Sam. Somewhere, way, back in a single fold of his brain there was a need to not embarrass his brother about his predicament. Butt his predicament was fucking funny as all shit.
Sam looked up at Dean who was polishing the barrel of his gun. Dean hid his face behind his hand so close to the barrel of the Colt that he would've shot himself in the face if the gun was loaded.
Sam looked up from the shotgun he was oiling. One end of the towel wrap fell in his face. He brushed the wet fabric away sighed in defeat: "Dean, just go ahead and say it."
A wheezed stream of laughter escaped Dean's mouth. "You look like Alladin." More wheezed laughter escaped.
Sam rolled his eyes, trying to look very offended, but quiet laughter escaped his mouth too.
After what they deemed was a significant amount of time, all the towels came off Sam's head. Dean climbed up on the bed behind Sam, standing up on his knees. The gum in Sam's hair was now solid, flecks of melting ice clung to it. Dean raked the claw of the hammer through Sam's hair, hard enough that it whiplashed Sam's head back. The gum started to move, making them both hopeful, even more so when both combs came out. But their hope was dashed in seconds when the gum stopped releasing itself. What made it worse was that the claw of the hammer mashed more hair into the gum. When the hammer was yanked out of Sam's hair, Sam was left with uneven, frizzed hair.
"Dude, you look like Davie Bowie in The Labyrinth." Dean wasn't even trying to hold his laughter back anymore. "All you need family jewels tight leggings." Dean felt like he was doing core strengthening exercises with how hard he was laughing.
Sam laughed at his own expense, giving a small, defeated sigh. "Okay, maybe we need to try option C."
"Which is what exactly?"
Sam took out his pocketknife from his jeans and flipped it open.
Dean looked at him with raised eyebrows. "You sure you trust me? I mean this is signature Sam Winchester hairstyle you're talking about.
"I'm pretty much out of ideas at this point." Sam turned the knife around, holding the handle out to Dean. Go for it."
An hour later Sam was eating his words so hard he choked on them. The glob of gum on the front of his hair almost came completely off with a couple of prods with the blade of Sam's knife. Sam kept up a litany of indignant huffs; Dean reassured Samit looked only a little bad.
The back of Sam's head was a completely different story in a completely different genre. Dean first attempted to cut around the globs of gum that had spiked Sam's hair resulted in uneven strands falling everywhere, and the knife getting stuck. Dean had to use his own pocketknife to free Sam's pocketknife.
Next came Dean's electric razor which made pretty good headway since Dean was able to work around the smushed gum mixed with sticky peanut butter. But soon the heat from the blade melted the peanut butter, seeping into the clip guard and now wouldn't budge. Dean grumbled; his legs were now as numb as hunting a Yeti in Antarctica naked. He held onto the razor, alternating hands when his fingers started falling asleep.
Dean looked at the razor in Sam's hair like it was a Trigonometry equation that Sam had tried to show him while Dean was busy not paying attention. Dean couldn't solve a complex nerdy math problem, but if there was one thing Hunting taught him was on his feet. The only way he saw things working was removing the razor's clip guard to release the bubble gum/peanut butter gook from Sam's hair. Herein lay the problem. The clip guard, he could wiggle out of the razor. But he had to turn the razor on to have any chance of making the razor slide out, which meant using the razor without a clip guard. There was no way to avoid buzzing off a section of Sam's hair, but a miscalculation would be the difference between a quarter-sized patch of hair gone and a full-on bald Mr. Burns from the Simpsons.
"Sammy, you trust me, right?"
"With my life or my hair?"
"They aren't interchangeable?"
"Not when you preface it like that Dean. But I just want this shit out of my hair. So, whatever you have to do, do it. I won't kill you…much."
"Works for me," Dean pulled the clipguard from the razor with careful precision that came from pulling apart matted blood too many past head injuries. He never thought he used that skill like this though. He turned on the razor, one speed higher from the bottom.
The buzzing sounded like bees hovering by Sam's ears. "Should I say a prayer to a deity that hasn't tried to kill us?"
"That's a bit of a small team roster man, but…yeah." Dean got to work, trying not to make Sam bald in the process.
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"Alright, you're all set." Dean tossed the dark grey baseball cap onto the table.
Sam picked up the cap and examined the red letters stitched into the front. "Dean this says: "Camp Crystal Lake."
"It's a good remake on a classic slasher film Sam. Not too bad characters either; all except that Clay Miller dude, and those undersized shirts. He totally had man boobs the whole movie." Dean took the hat from Sam and plunked it down on Sam's head. "I was going to get you a beanie, but I figured this would leave less fuzzies in your hair." Dean tapped hard on the bill of the baseball cap.
Sam swatted Dean's hand away; took the hat off and put it on backwards. It flattened his hair, which had grown past his ears, to his head. He had changed clothes because his shirt had been covered in hair, peanut butter and water from the failed attempt at washing the gum out. He was now in clean jeans, a grey crew neck shirt and his white and red flannel shirt that he kept unbuttoned.
Dean sized him up and down and whistled. "Sammy, you didn't have to get all dressed up for me."
"You're an idiot."
"Takes one to know one Gumby."
They left the hotel and drove for 15 minutes down the road. The drive ended when Dean pulled into a hair salon in a parking lot that was slightly less than half full.
Sam looked out of the windshield at the white painted strip mall; the salon took up much of the real estate. "Did you scope this place out online?"
"It had the best Yelp Reviews." Sam looked at him crooked. Dean didn't rise to the look, and slapped Sam on the chest. "C'mon, time to get those ears lowered, 1970's wants its hairstyle back."
They walked through the parking lot and through the glass door that chimed with a bell when it opened. The inside of the salon was white and minimalist in design; comprised mostly of a single long and wide hallway with tan leather beauty chairs as far as the eye could see. Clumps of women were being tended to by stylists in black t-shirts and jeans covered with black aprons. The place smelled like bleach, and different smelling shampoos and conditioners.
A rectangular desk was squashed into the front right wall of the salon. A petite woman with shoulder length deep brown hair greeted them with a smile. "Welcome, do you gentlemen have an appointment?"
"Ah no," Sam said. He felt the blush rise in his cheeks under his hat.
"My brother's going to be featured in the fourth article in Men's Health magazine." Dean clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "The shoot was supposed to be next week, but it got bumped up for tomorrow. His normal stylist had a family emergency and he's very particular with his hair. So, if you could fit him in, we'd be in your debt." Dean turned on his smile and charm. Sam rolled a tongue over his lip to keep from rolling his eyes instead.
The stylist smiled widely at them both, which meant that Dean's charm was working. "I think I can squeeze you in-"
"Sam." Sam answered the tail end of her sentence.
The woman's smile widened, gesturing with her head towards the salon chairs. "This way Sam."
She walked them down three rows of chairs filled with clients, one of them getting a bleach job to lift solid black hair to dye in platinum blonde.
Sam coughed and his eyes watered at the intensity of the bleach fumes. "Why exactly couldn't I do this at that barber shop down the street from the motel?" he sidebarred to Dean in a low voice.
"Because you, my brother, would not rock a bubble gum uptown fade. Plus, women, shampoo-" Dean glanced around at several women that sipped tall glasses of water with whole cucumber slices floating in it. "-free vegetable water. you can't beat the amenities."
"Alright, here you go Sam," the woman gestured to an empty tan leather salon chair. "Layla is going to be your stylist today. She should be about five minutes."
Dean watched her walk away in her black apron and jeans. "Remind me to come here when I need my ends tightened up."
"Exactly how do you know so much about hair styling?"
"We all have our guilty pleasures, Sammy. One of mine is hair styling, all of yours are geeky."
The woman at the desk stood talking to another woman with hair the color of lit fire, in double French pigtails that went down past her shoulders. Their voices were too low to be heard, but both women had appreciative looks. The redhead looked like she had won a prize in a box of Cracker Jacks; she smoothed back her pigtails and walked over to them. "Hi there, I'm Layla, I'll be your stylist today, it's Sam, right?"
"Yes," Sam answered. "That's my brother Dean."
Layla smiled at Dean, Dean flashed her a smile and said "hi."
"Meghan tells me you're doing a magazine cover?" Layla didn't completely buy this explanation, but they were both hot as hell. They could say they were mole people from underground and she would've found a way to believe it.
"Article cover actually," Sam said in a gentle correction of his blatant lie. "Core muscle planks and tire flipping benefits."
"And post 10k run kale smoothie recovery." Dean added, enjoying the look his little brother shot him.
"So, what kind of look are we going for?" Layla asked Sam.
"The, uh, fix it kind." Sam blushed; but he could be embarrassed, or he could be bald. He slowly removed the baseball cap, some hair pulled away with the hat. All of he and Dean's failed attempts to remove it on full bald and patchy display.
Layla raised her eyebrows at Sam's predicament, but it wasn't like she hadn't seen this kind of thing before. "Kids?"
"My niece has pretty lethal weapons to refuse naptime." Dean lied before Sam could.
Layla chuckled. "I can see that. Just be glad she's not getting a teddy bear at the Build-A-Bear downtown. Apparently, there was some crazy rumor about bears attacking people." She pumped down the salon chair as low as it would go, but still had to grab a step stool to see the top of Sam's head. She ran rat-tailed comb through Sam's hair, separating some of the smashed gum and hair apart. "See you went the peanut butter route," some Jiff stuck to the metal tail of her comb.
Sam's blush traveled further across his cheekbones.
"It's not a bad choice," Layla stated "The oils in the peanut butter are what help dissolve the gum. Personally, I'd go with coconut oil, it's not sticky and really helps moisturize the hair." She flipped the comb over and worked its fine teeth through Sam's hair, moving past the gum with expertise. "Your hair length makes it feather out past your neck which isn't a good match for your square jawline."
"See? That's what I've been saying."
Sam loudly cleared his throat at Dean's remark.
"I would definitely go about two inches higher and tighter sideburns." Layla removed the comb from Sam's hair. "First thing's first, let's get started with the coconut oil treatment to dissolve the gum."
Sam expected coconut oil treatment to just be working a coconut smelling residue through his hair and rinsing it off after around twenty minutes. Instead, the thick white coconut oil was applied to his head, then his hair was divided into small wisps, each wisp tied up by small rubber bands. Finally, a clear plastic shower cap covered everything, and he was left to process for 30 minutes while Layla went to check on some stock in the back of the salon.
Dean sat on the edge of the empty salon chair across from Sam. He thumbed through an old issue of Oprah Winfrey's O Magazine which wasn't anything like he thought it was. There was, however, an amazing looking recipe for strawberry rhubarb pie that piqued his interest. He kept stealing glances up at Sam's plastic covered pigtailed hair in silent laughter.
"Oh, 'scuse me," Dean relinquished the salon chair he sat on to a pinup blonde with candy red lips. He looked at her, and she looked at him, both in silent appreciation.
One of the stylists offered Dean a wheeled stool; he sat down and rolled it over towards Sam. He hid his chuckles between the magazine pages like bookmark ribbons, and listened to the timer tick away for Sam's hair treatment.
Layla came back with a glass of cucumber water that leaked condensation and held it out to Sam.
"Thanks," Sam took the water glass with an awkward smile. Layla donned a pair of disposable black nitrate gloves and lifted the shower cap to peak at Sam's head. "Looking good, I think about another 20 minutes, and we'll be ready to rinse it off." She reset her timer and walked away again.
After another 20 minutes passed, Layla took the plastic cap off Sam's head, and examined it with the rat tail comb again. "Looks good Sam, let's get you over to the shampoo station and wash this off." She adjusted the Velcro of the cape around his neck and told him to pinch it in place so it wouldn't fall off.
Sam stood up, looking like Batman fell headfirst into a vat of Crisco. Dean laughed in his fist as Layla led Sam to an empty shampoo station and left for a moment to get the shampoo she wanted.
"Mommy look!" A little girl sat in a pink Hello Kitty salon chair across from him. "That man likes braids rubber bands in his hair too!" She had thick brown curls that were being worked into tight braids on the crown of her head and tied off at the end with tiny colorful rubber bands.
Dean's next laugh came out in a burst like a stalling car ignition. "That's right sweetheart he does."
Layla came back with a purple shampoo bottle. "His needs to come out though." Dean sipped from the glass of cucumber water he'd stole from Sam.
"Why?" The girl looked at Sam curiously. "He looks pretty."
A tomato had nothing on Sam's red cheeks. He gave the girl half a smile. "Thanks-thank you."
"You're welcome!" the girl said sincerely going back to reading the Pete the Cat book on her lap.
"Okay, let's see if we made any magic happen." Layla undid the all the rubber bands; Sam's hair stuck out at crazy angles in all different directions. She worked a wide tooth comb through Sam's hair and Sam felt pieces of gum finally starting to pull away from his hair instead of it being ripped off his scalp. She started using smaller and smaller tooth combs, until finally, all the gum was removed except for flecks that looked like purple dandruff stuck to the greasy coconut oil.
"The rest should wash out with this shampoo. The gum here had become flakes like the rest of it, but there still was a tangled mess at the end where Dean tried to yank it off. "I'll do my best but there are sections that are too tight to detangle and need to be cut off."
"Hey better you than me Layla," Dean grinned. "I already tried."
Layla laughed. "I see that." She already suspected the tangled wad of gum at the front of Sam's head, and the uneven shaved patch on crown was something Dean had attempted.
"Dean," the flash of a camera phone clicked in Sam's face. He raised an arm in front of his face. "Dude, what the hell-?" He stopped his curse because the little girl was still sitting across from him. "What are you doing?"
"Behind the Scenes footage Sammy, for the magazine archives." Dean snapped another photo perfectly capturing Sam's death glare. He knew that his brother would reign any inappropriate language in because of the kid still sitting across from him; it made Sam an ideal target.
Layla draped a white terry towel over Sam's shoulders the guided his head down towards the shampoo sink, getting him to rest his neck in the slot made for that reason. She wet Sam's hair with a snake faucet, squeezing purple-colored shampoo on her hands then started working the shampoo in with her fingers. The shampoo smelled like sage and ginger; reminding Dean of the potion he shoved down the Evil Teddy Bear witch's throat. The witch's reason for casting her evil spell? Being picked on one time in kindergarten for making a squeaking sound when she slid on the metal slide at recess and dropped her teddy b. Seriously? Witches need to work on their reasoning to be evil.
Layla rinsed the shampoo from Sam's hair, repeating the process twice more. Then she used a lemon and citrus smelling conditioner, that smelled very close to the stuff Sam stashed in his duffle. Dean snapped two more photos with his phone. But truth be told the way Layla worked her fingers through Sam's hair made Dean want to stick an entire checkout line's worth of bubble gum in his hair so she could work her fingers through his own hair.
Layla rinsed the last of the conditioner from Sam's hair, then dried it off with the towel around Sam's neck gesturing Sam to sit up with a hand on his arm and another on his back. He was more stacked than a college library. She flashed a look behind her at one of her coworkers who was working on another client. The other woman looked extremely jealous that she wasn't in Layla's position.
Layla gave one last pass of the white terry towel through Sam's hair, and Dean smirked in amusement, Sam looked like he had shocked himself by sticking a fork in an electric socket. He took another picture; big brothers could never have too much prank ammunition.
When everything was done with the shampoo and conditioning part Sam was ushered back to a salon chair. The little girl from earlier, now with neatly done braids and colorful braids waved goodbye to Sam when she walked out the door with her mom.
Layla removed the salon cape from Sam's neck "You want to take off your button up, before I get started with the cut? Just so you don't get hair shards everywhere?"
"Yeah sure." Sam stood up from the chair and took off his flannel shirt, dropping it over Dean's head, effectively stopping his brother from snapping another picture. "Hold that for me man." Sam sat back down in the chair, this time being the one to laugh at his brother's indignation coming in muffled noises under Sam's shirt.
Both Sam and Dean were too busy annoying each other to notice the way Layla tripped climbing back onto her stool because Sam's well-toned, well-muscled arms were on full display. She grappled for the stool handle.
"Whoa, you okay?" Sam took her arm to keep her from falling completely over.
"Yeah," Layla tried not to lose all the breath from her body at Sam's grip on her. "Yeah, I'm fine." His hands were big, she wondered what else was.
"You sure you don't need a break or something?" Dean asked. "You've been at this for a few hours."
"No, it's okay, really; comes with the job." She cleared her throat like a consummate hair stylist professional with allergies to dust, at least that's what she told herself. She stepped down from the stool and picked up the black cape again.
Dean stood up and took the cape from her, shaking it out. "Allow me," He draped the black cape over Sam with a flourish. "I'm thinking you could rock a Lord Farquaad bob, Sammy. Except you'd have to primp and preen your hair even more than you already do to maintain it."
"Dude c'mon-" Sam knew Dean was dicking with him mercilessly, and Dean knew it bothered Sam like a smack in face bothered Sam.
He slapped Sam on the shoulder "He's all yours." Dean snagged an empty stool behind him with his foot and sat down on Sam's left. "This is something best left to the professionals."
"I appreciate it the vote of confidence." Layla fell hard under the spell of Dean's charismatic smile. Two hot guys, brothers, in her salon at the same time. Her star charts must really love her. She picked up a cordless black electric shaver from a towel draped silver tray on her right. It was much less bulky than Dean's razor, with a sleek, ergonomic handle and neat and sharp shave blade. She selected a clip guard from an array on the tray, snapped it to the razor, like she was racking a slide on a gun. She placed the razor into one of the two large pockets in her black apron; then pulled a pair of metal hair shears from the other apron pocket. She snipped the blades up and down with a crisp sound of the metal, testing out their sharpness.
She slipped the scissors back into her apron pocket. Dean was impressed, her skill with sharp tools were amazing; she'd be great to have on a hunt.
Layla walked around the salon chair until she stood in front of Sam. She was 5'4" and was just tall enough to reach Sam's hair without having to use her step stool. She lifted the tangled section of Sam hair where Dean had tried to rip the gum out. "Like I said before, I'll do my best to salvage what I can but looks like you're going to lose about an inch and a half." She took the razor from her apron pocket and clicked it on with a buzz. "It's easier to shave around the tangled part vs cutting it. Does that sound okay?"
"Yeah," Sam answered, "that's fine."
"After I shave this part off, we'll get started on the actual cut, and then tighten up your sideburns." Layla paused before asking: "Does it still sound okay to you?"
"It sounds awesome." Dean answered for Sam.
Sam harumphed at his brother. "That'll be great Layla, thanks." He slid his arm out from under the cape and checked his watch. Two hours had passed since they'd been here. They didn't have any pressing place to go, but Sam thought of a million other places he'd rather be in than in a salon chair watching Dean snapped pictures of him. Sam might have been a walking target for bubble gum, but half of this mess was Dean's fault because of his brother's failed attempts at getting the damn gum out of his hair. Dean etched anti possession symbols in the back of both their watches with his pocketknife, he couldn't work a fucking razor?
Layla picked up her tools and went to work. Her razor buzzed by Sam's ear and made short work of the gum and hair tangled in the front of his head, a dusting of hair shards falling onto the cape. She put down the razor and picked up her shears and a fine-tooth comb.
"Alright, "She snipped them open and closed. "Time for the main event."
Dean raised the glass of cucumber water. "I'll drink to that."
oooooo
VVVVVVV
Sam's hair was transformed with each clip of the scissors and buzz of the razor. The salon chair was facing a wall-to-wall mirror, which showed the front of Sam's hair, but not the back. Layla tapered the ends of Sam's hair. It still fell past his ears, but not in the reverse bob curl he had it all last year. Hair cutting hadn't exactly been a top priority.
When Dean had first disappeared from SucraCorp, Sam didn't know which way was up, or down, left, or right, off the planet, or on. He had poured over books and lore for weeks, a month, then one became, two became three. Dean had escaped Hell; Sam had escaped the Cage, but as far as anyone knew no one had escaped Purgatory. Eventually Sam ran out of books to pour over and leads were razor thin. The last time Sam had looked was when a hunter he didn't know called him, claiming to know how to pull someone out of Purgatory. Sam met up with man at a dive bar outside of Knoxville. He talked shop with the grizzled hunter at the bar long enough that he lost count of how many shots of Johnny Walker he threw back. The Hunter turned out to be full of crap; he gave Sam a handwritten spell in Enochian that was actually a way to trap a Leprechaun to make it grant you three wishes. Sam had been in the Cage enough to be able to almost fluently read Enochian because Lucifer would make him translate Enochian to English exactly what kind of torture he was about to inflict. Those memories, and the possibilities that this kind of pain could be happening to Dean…Sam was pissed and drunk enough to get into a fist fight that broke the other Hunter's nose and dislocated the man's left shoulder. Sam left the bar before the police got there. He knew just as well as Dean was gone that he was too drunk to drive. He drove for about ten minutes. He sat in car, wiped the blood off his split lip and matted to his hair from a liquor bottle being smashed on the top of his head. It was enough to make him look like Carrie having the pig's blood dumped on her dress. He wiped at the trickles of blood running down his hairline, hoping he wasn't getting any on the Impala's leather seats.
After that incident, Sam never cut his hair beyond one or two times with a pair of kitchen scissors, and never even that much. He never knew exactly why that was, but it could've been the way he flipped his pocketknife blade out and spun it around in his fingers, not doing anything but look at it. Ameila liked his longer hair and told him so with genuine affection. Not like Dean with a joke primed about Sam's hair, calling him Sampson or Rapunzel.
Now, it was him and Dean, not him and Amelia. And he was sitting in an honest to god hair salon getting his hair cut and styled because of chewing gum. And Dean was drinking cucumber water, snapping enough retribution pictures of Sam to fill an entire photo album. It was fucking weird, and Sam missed fucking weird.
Sam cleared his throat when he realized Layla had asked him something he hadn't been paying attention to. "Sorry, what?"
Layla had clicked off the razor. "I can hide the buzzed bit of hair at your crown with a few more tapered layers, does that sound good?"
"Oh yeah- sounds good," Sam said. He looked over and saw Dean watching him in the way he did when he knew something was off. "You gonna give back the cucumber water at some point today? Seeing how it's mine," Sam held out his hand for the glass, and Dean gave it to him, the question still lingered on his face.
Sam sipped from the glass. "Is this spring water?"
"Um," Layla looked at him in puzzlement. No one had asked her that question before. "I think it's distilled. I can—check—if you want-"
"No, no no no, that's okay. I was just curious." Sam sipped the water again; it was surprisingly refreshing. "Distilled is fine." He sipped again.
Layla smiled again. "Great." The razor came back on, and more pieces of Sam's hair came off. The blade went up and down Sam's sideburns, shortening them.
When Sam was 6 and Dean was 10, they had stayed for a month in an actual apartment, a little one room studio with a single bedroom and a barebones kitchen and bathroom. They went to school at the local elementary school. Sam was in First Grade and Dean was in Fifth Grade. Dean already had the John Winchester regulation length short hair cut. Sam was in his peak of 'Dean is the baddest brother alive' phase, so he wanted to have extra short hair like Dean's. Dean had his pocketknife, but he was afraid he'd cut one of Sam's ears off because Sam never sat still. Dad's electric razor would've been better, but it had quit working the week before and John hadn't bothered to replace it. So, Dean had swiped a pair of yellow safety scissors in a plastic bin that smelled like crayons from Sam's classroom. The haircut was horribly choppy, like Sam had lost a fight with a weedwhacker, but Sam had loved it. Before school began the next morning Dean pilfered a red Oakland A's baseball cap from the lost and found box in the front office and plopped it on Sam's head. Sam wanted to have a big, magician-like haircut reveal so it seemed perfect. The brim covered Sam's eyes and he kept having to push it up. Dean walked him to his class and once inside Sam pulled off the red cap and showed off his new shorter hair to his classmates. A few of the kids ooh and awed. And the ones that sniggered got the best 10-year-old death glare Dean could muster without him being suspended.
Now Sam had a fan memorabilia baseball cap from the remake of Friday the 13th instead of one stolen from the front office. And instead of being too big, it fit perfectly on Sam's head.
The snipping of silver scissors kept going, cutting through Sam's hair in ways Dean didn't know were possible because he was a hunter and not a stylist. Subsequently he was glad that Sam's quaff was in the hands of a professional. He slowly sipped down the glass of cucumber water and read the ingredients and directions of the pie recipe he found in the O Magazine- Seriously, it needed a different name if it was going to lie like that. Eventually the snipping stopped, and the sound of a blow dryer took its place. Over the whir of the blow dryer motor Dean could make out Layla's whispered comments about Sam:
"How the hell am I making this guy hotter? I wish I could more than just his hair."
Figures the hot beautician would be looking at Sam like a tall drink, and Sam was oblivious to it.
After 20 minutes, Layla declared that Sam was done. "All set Mr.-" Layla stopped when she realized she didn't ask his last name."
"Smith," Sam internally cringed at the generic alias Frank had assigned them over a year ago.
"Mr. Smith," Layla's reflection smiled at Sam in front of the mirror.
After Sam kept went go to ground, he had set up a real bank account to funnel his handyman payroll checks to. He wanted cash, but his employer was as straight as the crease in the pants of an Armani suit so that was a no go. So, Sam was a Smith instead of a Winchester. After the incident in the bar, he had drove erratically, wiping blood off his face and neck and looking for ravine or cliff to drive off. But he was in the Impala and Dean's baby, and he couldn't take her with him. So, he stopped looking for cliffs and kept his eyes out for secluded area where he could eat the barrel of his Taurus. He had spent centuries in hell, and he knew he wasn't going to get into heaven after he did it. That only left Purgatory. He could wind up there and find Dean and get him out. Then Riot happened and Amelia happened when he brought the dog to the emergency vet. And he could never end himself when he finally found someone left who cared about him.
Layla dusted off the back of Sam's neck then removed the cape and dusted off his shirt. "What do you think?"
Sam's hair had been buzzed short at the front of his face to remove traces of the gum but still tapered sections long enough to tickle his ears, but it wasn't a reverse bob anymore. The hair on top had been buzzed off to remove gum residue. It was patchy on places, but the patches Dean had done were hidden by tapered sections of hair. His John Quincy Adams sideburns were gone, and his sideburns had shrunk back under his ears where they belonged.
Dean looked up from his magazine at Sam with a deep whistle, like the one Eliot Ness had given Dean when he came out in that well-tailored suit. Dean had really liked that suit, but it had been scorched by Kronos. "Sammy, you look-"
"Dean," Sam cut Dean off not wanting to hear the end of his remark which surely would be some big brother Winchester riff.
"You look good man." Dean sounded sincere.
Sam pulled in a laugh of silent air. "Thanks."
"Almost like a full-grown adult."
Annd, there it was.
Sharp strands of cut hair were under Sam's shirt collar. Layla brushed them off his neck and under his shirt collar with her barber brush, her breath blew in warm puffs against his skin. Sam reached behind his neck and collected several shards of hair before they could be brushed away. He sprinkled the tiny loose bits of hair on the top of Dean's head.
"Dude." Dean patted off his head in indignation.
Layla laughed at the scene. These two guys were definitely brothers with all their banter and messing with each other. She picked up a bottle of soft sculpting gel, squirting into her hand then working it through Sam's hair. It smelled like lemon and white sage.
Dean watched with silent jealously as Layla again worked her fingers through Sam's hair,styling sections of it that made his brother look like a male model. Dean snapped another picture, much to Sam's vocal annoyance. But this would most likely be the only proof Sam's hair looked like this styled before it was erased by sweat and vamp blood.
Layla pumped down the salon chair with a hiss of air.
Sam checked his new haircut over, impressed, and thankful how Layla was able to fix his sticky situation. "How much do I owe you?"
"I'll tally up the price of everything I did, and Jenna up front will be able to check you out. We take cash or credit."
"Great, thanks." Sam stood up from the salon chair, his full height finally returning.
Dean snapped his fingers. "Shit, I left my wallet in the car; I'll go get it."
Sam looked at Dean in confusion. "Dean what are you talking about?" Sam had his wallet with a fake credit card in his alias, and the real credit card he sent his payroll checks to when he and Ameila lived together. Also, there was a fold of large bills in his sliver money clip in the back pocket of his jeans for cash bribes. "Are you high off all the perm solution in here?"
"I'll be right back Sammy; Dean gave a non-answer and slapped Sam in the shoulder.
By the time Dean had returned, Sam had put his plaid button up back on and stood by the front desk. Dean was carrying something in his hand, a white baseball cap with a slasher man done in a black colored profile, and a red heart.
"Dean? Seriously? My Bloody Valentine?"
"It's a great remake to the classic 80's slasher film, Sam. C'mom, Tom Hanniger? Total bad ass. He reminds me of me." Dean waggled the cap at Sam. "I'm an awesome big brother, don't be a bitch." He waggled the cap in front of Sam again until Sam took it with an exasperated huff. But instead of putting it on, Sam folded the hat into the back pocket of his jeans, "You're probably right," Dean said "You gotta show off that new coiffure."
Jenna, the worker at the front desk, a pinup color blonde no less in a form fitting black shirt. She smiled at Dean and slid a paper receipt invoice over to him. "You guys do great work," he pulled the fake credit card out of his wallet and set it on top of the receipt. "Anyone who can shave a sasquatch is a winner in my book."
"Dean," Sam looked affronted at the double entendre his brother had just shot out into the world. Dean signed the receipt in the squiggles and flourishes they used in place of actual letters to avoid being traced. He slid the paper and pen back across the brown spackled countertop.
Sam took out his money clip from his back pocket and set a 20-dollar bill on top of the counter, leaving his hand there. "Sorry, about my brother, he's an idiot."
"I'm right here." It was Dean's turn to look affronted.
Jenna laughed with candy red lipstick painted over plump lips. "It's really alright," she reached over the counter, and walked her fingers over to Sam's hand setting her smaller hand on top of his. "We can handle anything." She slid her hand off Sam's hand backwards, pulling the twenty towards her with the heel of her palm, and folded the bill up with a closed hand.
Sam blushed only one shade lighter than Jenna's lipstick. "I'll remember that thanks."
Dean didn't know whether to be amused or proud of Sam for snagging the attention of the hot receptionist. He settled on a combination of both. Amuse-roud. Guess Sam and his vet doctor girl had an open relationship, not that he and Sam really talked about it. Dean had fought for his life in Purgatory while Sam had left him for a girl and a dog, he nearly road killed. It wasn't an over beer conversation.
Now, girls like Jenna who only wanted Sam for a single night; Dean was on board with that. Amuse-roud. His new word was as awesome as naming the Jefferson-Starships when they hunted Eve.
Jenna looked Sam over like she wanted to do more than just look. "Good luck on your photoshoot Sam. After the edition comes out, we'd love a copy for our waiting area."
"Will do, and make sure he autographs it for you guys." Dean answered for Sam. "C'mon pretty boy, lunch is on me." Dean winked at Jenna and followed Sam out of the door.
Dean stopped on the sidewalk outside the salon's front door into an afternoon of a cool breeze that meandered through a sun filled, clear blue sky. He stretched and his back cracked.
Sam's eyebrows rose into his newly shortened bangs. "You okay there old man?"
"Why do monsters and ghosts have a thing for throwing people into walls? Would it kill them to go for softer things like couches and beds…you know what I mean." Dean popped his neck in swift movements.
A woman, roan waved hair, wearing a red body con sweater dress and black ankle boots walked past them with a long glance back at Dean. He turned to Sam. "So, we doing the lunch thing solo, or do you want to call Aaliyah to come meet us?"
"It's Amelia," Sam corrected in irritation. "She's visiting her dad at Fort McCoy; he's a retired Army Second Lieutenant."
"Well, at least that's a step in the right John Winchester direction." Dean deadpanned.
Sam didn't rise to the bait. "What about Benny? Oh, that's right-" He talked with a snapping fingers tone. Vampires aren't into the whole eating thing unless it's blood from someone's throat."
Dean wanted to throw a barbed remark about a time when Sam wanted to drink blood from someone's throat. But that was beyond below the belt and beyond cruel. "Women and dietary habits man, I tell ya, Looks like it's just you and me. Dean Smith and Sam Smith, no relation."
Both exchanged a look; Frank had given them very generic FBI identities, the only subterfuge they needed. Except now their introductions seemed to be an actuality.
"I saw a diner on the way over here," Sam offered an olive branch. "Boasts the best pie for twenty miles out. But I'm sure you already knew that."
"Course I knew Sammy. It's pie. It's warm, it's ooey, its gooey." Dean wasn't trying to be facetious, (okay, maybe a little facetious) He really did love his pie. He bumped Sam in the shoulder with his own as they walked to the Impala. An exasperated, but real smile tugged at Sam's lips.
They climbed in the car; both the driver's and passenger doors opened and shut with their distinctive squeak.
ooooo
VVVVVV
Much to Dean's delight the diner lived up to its claim about having the best pie in twenty miles. Though Dean couldn't claim that one hundred percent since there was nothing else to compare it too. Dean smacked his slips together at the peanut butter pie at the listed at the top of the menu. He ordered a double cheeseburger and loaded curly fries, a generous slice of that pie and a tall glass of lemonade. Another quick scan of the menu and Dean ordered a chicken Caesar salad, dressing on the side for his health nut brother who was currently hitting the head. He also took liberty to add a surprise item to Sam's order.
Sam came out of the bathroom, heading back to the booth they had claimed. Dean sipped from a mug of black coffee. He slid back into the tan faux leather backed seat and pushed the mug of coffee towards Sam.
"Thanks," Sam picked up the cup mug and took a few sips of the black coffee; it had a kick strong enough to give the most tempered mule a run for its money. Dean stared out the window into the view of the parking lot with only a handful of parked cars, including their own. Sam drank more of his coffee but didn't talk for a full minute. "Dean-I'm sorry, about what I said about Benny," Sam's voice was the cadence of chewing on rocks. "He's a damn vampire, and if things get out of hand…" . His attitudes about Benny hadn't changed, but he shifted gears. "But I'm tired of something driving a wedge between us man. It's the same song, just a different verse and I'm kind of sick of the whole damn album."
Dean turned away from the window and Sam turned towards it, giving Dean a side profile look at Sam's hair. It was still long enough for Sam to tuck behind his ears, but it had professional edges instead of an uneven cut from Dean's pocketknife, or a pair of yellow safety scissors. Layla even managed to make the sporadic bald patches Dean had cut into Sam's head look like it was part of the cut.
"I think Alana will dig the new grown-up hair style; you haven't had curls since you were five. So, this is an improvement, for you and her." The words burned Dean's throat like scalding coffee. Dean had as much love for Sam and his girl as Sam had for him and Benny. But he couldn't ignore things forever, no matter how much he wanted too. It wasn't the way he operated.
"She actually likes my hair longer," Sam turned his attention away from the window and onto Dean. "More to hold-"
"Dude, dude no oversharing, not before lunch."
Sam chuckled; glad the change of subject had worked. He wasn't a fan of open communication about his sex life like Dean was. But he was willing to take the hit because he didn't want to open either of their wounds yet. He just wanted to be him, Dean, a no good very bad haircut, and pie.
Sam studied the lists of pie on the menu: peanut butter, Dutch apple, blueberry lettuce, blackberry crumble, Earl Grey. "How many of these did you order?"
"Please Sammy; I do have some restraint about these things."
"No, you don't."
"Okay, I don't. But I'm working on it."
Sam rolled his eyes. A minute later a waitress came over to them. She was middle aged with long braided brown hair that hung behind her pink uniform and startling green eyes. "Alright here we go" she started setting plates down as she named what was on them. "Chicken Cesar salad, dressing on the side, water with a slice lemon, and a PB . The sandwich is usually a kids menu item, so we doubled it up for you."
Sam looked totally baffled at the sandwich, as Deans order was placed in front of him. Sam knitted his eyebrows in confusion.
"Double bacon cheeseburger with extra curly fries a slice of whipped peanut butter pie and a glass of lemonade."
"You boys are all set." The waitress smiled at them.
"Great, thank you." Dean said with a smile of his own as the woman walked away.
Sam stared at Dean's drink "Lemonade?" Dean never drank lemonade, not even Countrytime lemonade mix, which didn't have any lemon in it at all.
"What?" Dean said. "A guy can't like sour fruit drinks?" He tore the paper off the straw he'd been given, plunked it down into the cup, and took a long drink of lemonade. His lips puckered so much it they almost disappeared into his mouth.
Sam looked on in amusement. "How is it?" He pushed his water glass over to Dean.
"Great-" Deam coughed "nice and sour." He coughed again and picked up the glass sugar shaker on the table, unscrewed the metal lid, and dumped nearly its entire contents into his glass. The lemonade turned opaque, and Dean stirred vigorously with his straw. Dean took large pulls from Sam's glass of water to wash the pucker taste from his mouth. Once Dean's lemonade had gone from opaque back to clear, he took another drink. Sugar water with a hint of lemon, much better.
"Look at that Sammy," Dean inspected the PB "They even cut off the crusts, just the way you like it." Sam scowled; Dean smirked.
Dean picked up his burger half wrapped in white paper and bit a large chunk off, chewing with satisfaction at the grilled taste.
The PB were two sandwiches stacked on top of each other like a club sandwich. Sam lifted the top piece of bread, coated sticky red strawberry jelly and peanut butter. It smelled like Sam's hair for the last 6 hours. He shook his head in annoyance, realizing now why Dean had ordered it for him.
"You're an idiot, you know that Dean?" Sam unrolled the silverware beside him from a paper napkin and began to spear pieces of romaine lettuce and cuts of grilled chicken onto his fork.
"C'mon Sammy, you loved this sandwich when you were a kid."
Sam spoke next around a swallow of his salad "Because it was the easiest thing to fix and steal the ingredients for Dean."
There were times when their dad would leave them with only ten dollars for and a handful of dirty change for food to last for two weeks. There were never any real grocery stores within in any of their hotel rooms; only overpriced convenience stores. Places where a loaf of bread, and a small jar of peanut butter cost more than a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. These items always ate up their single bill of money. Even when the bread was on sale because it was fossilized, the small jar of Peter Pan Peanut butter long past its best buy date so the oil had separated and floated at the top of the jar.
Dean would skim off the separated peanut butter oil with a spoon and put it on his sandwich and gave Sam the actual peanut butter. Sam knew he did this, but he never said anything. He was around five when he caught Dean doing it the first time. Especially when the bread and peanut butter ran out and Dean would steal them in a rush and would be back to the hotel before Sam had even finished solving five of his math double digit multiplication math problems. Sam stole things too, Lucky Charms if he could find them, chocolate bars, a bag of Cheetos, He shared all his loot with Dean, even the Lucky Charms. Dean was usually pissed, but Sam wanted to help, and when he was 11 he told Dean it would help throw off any suspicious mini mart clerk if they took turns.
When Sam was in Stanford his meal plan hand endless options of food in the dorm room diner; including burgers that Dean would've driven to California for. But Sam still stocked on three things at the little on campus market: Lucky Charms, bread, and peanut butter. Never any jelly because they never had any jelly on their original sandwiches.
"Hey," Dean snapped Sam out of his memory half a burger being chewed in his mouth "You gonna eat that or feel it up some more?"
Sam looked at the sandwich he was holding. He peaked at its edges, mentally deconstructing all its ingredients. "Jelly too? Shit man, you didn't have to get all fancy for me."
"Shut up and eat your sandwich." Dean said watching Sam smile at him in satisfaction.
Oozes of jelly and peanut butter fell from the sandwich in Sam's hand. He took a bite of the sandwich that had been made with artesian crafted white bread instead of the Wonder Bread Dean used to use. He took a second bite; more jelly and peanut butter oozed out onto his fingers.
"It's good, isn't it?" Dean said like he personally made the sandwich. Sam bitchfaced him; Dean pulled a stack of brown napkins and tossed them over to Sam, "Wipe your hands, you just got the peanut butter out of your hair." Sam attempted to answer him, but the beauty of peanut butter was that it stuck to the roof of your mouth.
Sam took a long swallow of his water and was finally able to talk in a way that made sense. "No thanks to you," He wiped all the visible peanut butter and jelly stains off his hands before scratching at the back of his neck, feeling the shorter length of his hair. It was still long enough to cover the tops of his ears, and he was able to tuck some of it behind them.
Dean watched the nervous habit Sam had curated since Dean had given him that first haircut long ago. "Hey, my failure introduced you to Layla." Dean took another jaw separating bite of his burger.
"Actually, it was Katie and her love of bubble gum who introduced me to Layla." Sam countered. He would never admit it out loud, but he sort of understood why women enjoyed going to a salon; it was relaxing.
"Just make sure Katie's cut off from the Bubble Yum if we ever run into her again."
Sam chuckled around another large bite of sandwich and water. He repeated the process two more times.
"I never thought I'd have to hear myself say this; eat your salad, Sammy." Dean held up the fork that sat on Sam's plate. Sam chuckled with a voice that wasn't muffled by peanut butter. He took the fork and started eating his salad again, taking intermittent bites of his sandwich.
Dean finished his burger and started in on the peanut butter pie. Dean wanted to punch someone in the face, it was that good. The peanut butter had been whipped with fresh cream, and it was piled on top of a chocolate cookie crumb crust, and the whole thing was adorned with peanut butter cups and a dark chocolate drizzle. "This has more sin than the seven we killed." Dean spoke around the mini peanut butter cups that melted perfectly when he swallowed.
Sam cocked an eyebrow at Dean. "You two need some time alone?"
"I need you for an accountability partner," Dean took another healthy mouthful. "Or I'm gonna eat through this entire pie."
"What? Like you weren't planning too anyway?"
"It's harder if you tell me no, you're bigger than me." Dean rested the heel of his left hand in the center of his forehead, closing his eyes.
Dean looked like he did when they had won that 'Free Food For Life' contest at Biggersons; eating back-to-back banana splits. Sam was just as uncomfortable witnessing Dean's foodgasm then as he was now.
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and opened his eyes to one of Sam's best bitchfaces of all times, complete with lowered eyebrows. It was nice to see that he still got it after all these years. "We should try that Earl Grey pie." Dean waved his chocolate-stained fork at the plastic covered menu.
"Dean you already had a slice of pie."
"C'mon, you love tea Sammy,"
"What happened to me being bigger than you?"
"I'm older than you, so you're overruled."
"How we doing?" the waitress came over to them with a glass carafe of coffee. "You boys need a refill?"
"Yes please." Dean leant back to allow the woman to refill both their white coffee mugs.
"No problem," she smiled. "Can I get you anything else?"
Sam sighed and relented. "A slice of Earl Grey pie."
"My brother here just got his hair done," Dean remarked again. "And he likes the tea so I figured we should celebrate."
"So let me guess," she swept a hand in a circle over the top of Sam's head. "You went from being handsome, to being more handsome?" She cougar eyed Sam.
All older woman cougar eyed Sam, and Dean loved the reaction it got out of his brother: the 6'4" prude. Except for his Soulless time, like when he banged his way through Rhode Island including the woman in the bathroom of the Sea Shanty Restaurant.
"I'll get that right out," the waitress looked over more than just Sam's hair.
"Great, thank you." Sam kicked Dean under the table.
Dean rubbed his lower ankle with the toe of his boot. "Geez man, watch the shins; I need those." He took another cursory glance at the menu like he was about to order another type of pie just for the hell of it.
They lapsed into silence that remained unbroken until the waitress came back with her tray.
"Earl Grey Pie," she set a plate with a single slice of pie on the table. It had a light beige whipped cream over a flaky brown pie crust.
"Perfect, thank you." Dean said, his smile was for the waitress, and also for the pie.
"You got it." She set two clean forks down on the table. She gathered up all their dirty plates and stacked them on top of each other on the tray with a single hand motion.
"You would give an acrobat a run for their money."
She smiled at Dean's compliment. "Well, I've had years of practice." She smiled at them again. "You boys enjoy."
"Yes ma'am," Dean replied. He rotated the plate and surveyed the pie like it was a fiefdom he had recently acquired. He took one of the clean forks and held it out to Sam. "Shall we?"
Sam shook his head and took the fork from Dean, and Dean picked up the second fork. They sliced through the whipped filling from opposite ends of the pienearly the same time; resembling a Norman Rockwell painting. The pie tasted like oranges and soaked black tea bags.
"Wow, that's awesome." Dean said reaching for another bite as Sam finally finished his first bite.
"Dean…"
Dean answered with a "mm'hmm?" cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk with whipped filling and flaky crust. He seriously needed the recipe for this.
"Amelia never cut my hair."
"Clearly," Dean swallowed and wiped pie filing from his lips with a brown paper napkin.
"She offered to take me to her hair stylist once." Sam poked the tip of the pie with the fork tines instead of eating it.
"Like what we just successfully did back there?"
"It was going to be, just normal. Not you taking pictures and being a dick all day. I knew she would be there to reassure me that things were going great."
"And that you were one handsome son-of-a-bitch." Dean licked some custard off his fork.
Sam laughed. "Something like that. But the more that I thought about it, the more that I missed it, being awkward, I mean with you." Damn, I sound like I'm asking someone out to a middle school dance. "So, I never took her up on it."
Dean swallowed another bite of pie. "So, Farrah Fawcett all the way then?"
"She was afraid she'd mess up and leave me bald and patchy, like you did."
"Again Sammy Layla," Dean countered. "Also, you've always trimmed up your hair with your pocketknife." Dean didn't understand the conflict that he saw on Sam's face, that his younger brother clearly tried to hide. But you couldn't hide a moose behind a pebble.
"Yeah well, after you vanished, I stopped trusting myself with my knife so close." Sam cleared his throat and looked down at the pie on the plate, his hands; looked anywhere but at Dean. Sam's knife was in the back pocket of his jeans, and it felt like it was burning a hole in the denim. He never planned to say these things out loud; especially after Dean had returned from Purgatory. Dean had told Sam it was a place where he spent a year fighting every monster they had ever come across and even several dozen new ones. An endless, fast speed existence to survive. While Sam gave up hunting, gave up his brother, and hid like a coward in a little white house with a girl and a dog. "Any other hunters I ran into, ran into me, I should say-" He chuckled, it sounded like dry leaves blowing across a parking lot. "-I bare knuckle boxed if their intel on pulling someone out of purgatory was a lie, which they all were." Sam traced some fingers over his knuckles where his skin had split apart more than from repeated fighting and defensive fighting. So much for just the no good very bad haircut. After the last one I kinda decided to drink and drive. But I thought of how pissed you'd be if I ruined the Impala after all she went through at SucroCorp. So, I parked at this shoulder for a long time thinking of a different way. When I pulled back out on the road I ran into Riot.
Sam flicked back his newly styled bangs. Dean's eyes were on him, hand around the coffee mug that was too small for him to really hold. Out of all the things that hummed through Dean's he mind he settled on: "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want tell anybody, Dean." Sam finally took a bite of the whipped cream he'd been poking with his fork. "This really is good pie." He waved the fork at the pie slice.
Dean took another forkful; he savored and chewed. Sam took the remaining sliver Dean had left him, and the pie was finally finished.
"I would've helped." Dean said. "If you told me about any of this, I would've listened."
Sam set his fork on the empty plate with a clatter. The coffee was still warm in the mug when Sam sipped it. "I know." Sam flicked his hair back. it was nervous habit that he had ever since he was little. Even now, his hair was much shorter than it had been before. "I'm going to have to get used to this haircut."
"Don't worry Sammy. You still have enough left to pull off the puppy eyes." Everything Sam had told him had hurt the way it was supposed too; they were still brothers after everything. But it wasn't something a day at the beauty parlor and a lunch break could be fixed. So, Dean didn't try. "Can't remove your signature move." He swiped a bit of pie filling off the plate with his thumb and licked it off. "Seriously, who is Earl Grey?"
"Charles Grey," Sam said. "He was an Earl, a nobleman. Also, British Prime Minister in the mid 1830's"
"We really need to get you on Jeopardy, we'd be millionaires."
Sam snorted. "Dude you would've burned through half of the money on every piece of pie in here."
"It would've gone to a worthy cause little brother." Dean defended. He glanced down at Sam's pocket. "Seriously put on the hat. I need to see if my ten dollars were worth it."
"Ten dollars?" Sam was surprised. "Dean these are novelty items; comic bookstores sell them for 25 dollars at least."
"Not if you have an FBI badge and know how to haggle." Dean clapped his hands together twice. "Let's go, chop, chop."
Sam sighed a put-out look. He took the white hat from where it had been tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. He held onto the brim and shook, and the hat popped open like a tent. He pulled it on and waited for the Dean Reaction.
"Wow, you almost look good."
There it was, the Dean Reaction. "Eat me."
Dean leaned forward and tucked part of a loose fringe under the hat.
"Dude-no,"
"Dude, yes. Time for your fourth article Men's Health photoshoot." He took out his phone and snapped multiple photos of Sam. "That's right baby, work the camera."
Sam snatched the phone away and started deleting the pictures, but only the very recent ones. The ones from the hotel and the salon he kept; he tossed the phone back to Dean. He took the hat off his head and plunked it on Dean's, pulling the brim down past Dean's eyes. "You're more Tom Hanniger than I am man."
Dean pulled the brim up with a grin. Kid had a point. But instead of being upset like Sam thought he would, Dean preened; adjusting the white hat until he was happy with it. He snapped a selfie of himself with the Blue Steel look he once used for his mug shot.
Sam laughed at the absurdity of them at a diner, him having a well-manicured haircut and Dean snapping selfies from multiple angles and poses. Including one with the hat on backwards. Several waitresses had stopped to look over and stared at Dean longer than Sam was comfortable with. "Our lives are weird man."
"Blame it on the bubble gum Sammy." Dean tilted the camera to include Sam in the shot. Sam accepted his fate and gave a deuces peace sign, then flipped off the phone. Dean got pictures of both, "That's my boy."
Sam blushed; cheeks red. Dean took a picture of that too.
The waitress came over. "You boys ready for the bill?"
"Yes ma'am, almost." Dean answered. "Can you add a peanut butter pie to-go before we cash out?"
"Sure thing hon," the waitress said to Dean's inquiry. "It'll be about 20 minutes, we finish the inhouse bakery selections before we work on any takeout orders."
"Awesome," Dean said, flashing her the smile that made all women of any age smile back.
"So, we heading out today?" Sam asked.
Dean gave an umhm noise from around the swallow of his coffee. "After we snag our stuff from the hotel and gas up, we're out of here." Besides the worry that their fake credit card would finally be flagged, they also didn't want to stay where they had just completed a hunt. Dean reminded Sam years ago during the Arachne case that hunters have a habit of leaving messes behind. Already there was one old woman handing out leaflets for an emergency Catholic mass, claiming that the 'devilment' was in those bears.
Dean finished the last of his coffee just as their waitress called out to them from behind a counter and a cash register "You boys are all set."
"Awesome," Dean said again. He slid out of the booth, Sam doing the same, and walked over to the front counter. A rectangular cardboard box sat by the waitress' elbow; slightly warm and wrapped in a white plastic shopping bag tied in a knot at the handles.
"This was fresh out of the oven," the woman said, ringing up their total bill.
Sam watched Dean pick up the wrapped package gleefully, spinning it around by the plastic bag handles.
"That's great," Sam dug out his money clipped bills and paid in cash, including a 10-dollar tip. "My brother loves his pie. Almost more than he loves anything else."
Dean stopped the bag, mid spin and scowled at Sam. And Sam loved every minute of it. Because what kind of little brother would he be if he didn't make his big brother as uncomfortable as shit?
They left the diner for the parking lot. Dean resumed his spinning and dug the keys out from his jeans' pockets, now spinning the bag one handed. He opened the back door and set the pie on the floor behind the Impala's drivers' seat. He patted the box, gave it a nod of approval, then shut the door.
They climbed into the car.
"What do I almost love more than pie Sam?" Dean tried to call out his brother to admit what he was thinking so it would embarrass him for saying it out loud.
"Dean, c'mon," Sam said it like Dean had forgotten what day of the week it was. "You're sitting in her."
Dean's lips quirked into a smile; he patted the Impala's dashboard before starting the car.
They made quick work of driving back to the hotel and grabbing all their stuff. Everything smelled like peanut butter. Sam chucked the nearly empty jar of Jiff and the broken plastic combs into the motel trashcan before walking out.
They filled up at a gas station around fifteen miles out of that town. The little convenience store sold slices of some kind of dark berry fruit pie in plastic containers. The cashier told Dean it was elderberry when he paid for a cup of coffee. And the pie still had two days left before it expired and only one with the paper seal partly open. Dean kinda wanted to test out the diner's theory about them having the best pie around for 20 miles, but Sam ushered him out of the store to start gassing up the Impala. Some convenience stores were surprisingly good little hole in the wall places that smoked a mean bone in pork shoulders in a smoker behind the building and had local cane syrup sodas. This place wasn't one of them. The only smoked meat they sold was Slim Jims and sodas were the usual line up of Coke and Pepsi. Sam snagged two cokes, a bottle of Starbucks sealed iced coffee, a big bag of Cheetos, and a six pack of beer. He took his collection to the front, set them on the counter, then tossed a few more things into the pile he found at a register.
The convenience door opened with a push from Sam's shoulder into the late afternoon sun.
Dean was leant by the Impala's back doors; the gas hose was positioned in the tank and the gallon and price gauge ticked. He turned when Sam came over to the car. "You get everything?"
Sam nodded. "All except that pie," Dean made a sour face. "Dude, we just killed a witch possessing teddy bears, and you want to eat unsealed pie at a sketchy gas station?" Dean's sour face continued. Sam put the beer in the green cooler in the backseat, along with the cans of cokes and the iced coffee. He was careful not to disturb the diner pie sitting on the car's floor.
The Impala finally topped off, Dean removed the hose and put it back on the gas pump stand. "Buzzkill," he caught the bag of Cheetos Sam tossed at him, and ripped open the bag, shoving a handful of them into his mouth all at once.
Sam raised an eyebrow. "How are you still hungry? We just ate, including slices of pie."
"We didn't eat Cheetos Sam." Dean shoved another handful into his mouth, dropping into the driver's seat of the Impala. The passenger door opened, and Sam dropped onto the seat, with a crinkle of well-worn leather. "So where to now?"
"I got nothing," Dean replied, shaking the opened bag of Cheetos at Sam, fingers stained a bright orange. He took the baseball cap off his head and frisbeed it at Sam because, hat hair wasn't a good look on him.
"Yeah, me either," Sam pushed the Cheeto bag away, and set the hat in his lap. Dean really did look like Tom Hanniger.
Dean wiped his mouth free of Cheeto dust with the back of his hand. "Reno? We're running low on bribe money, and your poker skills are rusty."
Sam blew out an incredulous laugh. "I was thinking the Seven Clans?" The Minneapolis casino was only an hour out from them. "Still, plenty of people to fleece. Plus, I don't think your pie will hold out until Reno and it won't fit in the cooler."
Dean looked over his shoulder at the pie box on the floor behind Sam's seat like it was a baby in a car seat he was making sure was secure. "I'm on board with that." He wondered if anyone sold a pie on board bumper sticker just like the yellow baby on board ones.
"Here," Sam tossed something on Dean's lap and Dean turned around to see a package of grape Bubble Yum bubble gum sitting in his lap.
Dean looked from Sam to the bubble then back up to Sam. The package had already been torn open and two of the individually wrapped squares of gum were missing. "You sure you should be doing that after your track record?"
Sam chewed on the two bubble gum squares "Last time it was a little girl chewing bubble gum." He blew a small purple bubble.
"Yeah, well it is this time too."
Sam looked miffed and popped the bubble. He chewed the gum again, sounding like a cud chewing cow. The He blew a second bubble, larger than the first one, and popped it loudly.
Sam blew a bubble with as much breath as blowing up a real party balloon.
Dean bit down on a laugh.
"What?" Sam stared at Dean from behind his massive bubble.
"That's probably the hardest blow job you've ever had."
Sam took the gum from his mouth and the bubble stayed intact, it was roughly the size of a baseball and almost perfectly round. He touched it very softly with his index finger on his opposite hand, it buoyed like a balloon and still didn't pop. He brought the gum right up to Dean's ear.
"Dude, what the hell?-don't even-" the gum bubble was close enough to tickle Dean's ear.
"Don't even what?-" Sam smiled like an innocent little shit. "You're the one who taught me how to blow a bubble."
"When you were seven, not 27."
"I'm 31 Dean-"
"Man-"
"Alright," Sam held up his free hand. "Uncle." He put the gum back in his mouth and popped the bubble, then started chewing again. "Hey, remember that gumball machine at that gas station in Salt Lake?" Sam blew and popped another, smaller bubble. "The one with all the fingerprints smeared over it. I think I was six, and you only had one quarter, but got it to take buttons from that jar someone left in the hotel nightstand."
Dean smiled at the memory. "You got a handful of gumballs before those buttons clogged up the machine and that cashier chased us away from the store. There was about five inches of snow on the ground, and I had to keep stopping because you kept trying to erase your footprints with the toe of your shoes because you thought we'd get arrested."
"Dean I said I was 6."
"You were a dork then, and you're a dork now, all that changed is you're taller and you can cover your tracks better."
"You were the one that taught me that too." A glance was shared between them. No Amelia, no Benny. No Purgatory. Just them. Just brothers. "You're a good teacher." Sam flipped the ball cap over like he was about to go asking for tips. He puckered the fabric between the thumb and forefinger on his right hand.
"I know," Dean's lip quirked into a smile. The Impala's engine turned over with a loud growl. "Me and Baby Brother" by War played on the radio, continuing their tradition of the right song played just the right time.
Sam kept fiddling with the fabric of the cap, puckering and unpuckering the canvas. "Dude no-"
"Dude what?" Dean glanced at Sam in confusion. "What?"
Sam took his eyes off the cap and put his eyes on Dean. "You're about to make a joke about fingering."
"There's just so much raw material to work with."
Sam looked indignant, bunching it into his fist like a paper ball, then released it. "I never meant to stop looking for you, I did though, but-"
"There's a but?" Dean's voice was soft but still with angered disappointment. When Sam had fallen into the Cage Dean hadn't stopped trying to get him out. Veritas' truth spell on Lisa was painfully true. Dean drank through multiple fifths of whiskey while combing through every way to open the Cage to get Sam out, and keep the devil in. But he kept trying, he didn't stop like Sam had. Sam had yet to say anything. "Sam?"
Sam scratched the back of his neck and ran his fingers through his shorter hair. "I just got tired of slamming into walls man. I didn't want this to be another self-righteous cause of mine like it was with Lillith. So, I ran-" Sam gave the half shrug smile he'd given Amelia's dad over beers when he told him about Dean's death. "And now it's like you said earlier, Sam Smith and Dean Smith, no relation. Probably better this way."
"Shot down baby brother…and they call it law and order…"
"Are you done? Cause my pie's melting back there." Dean was tired of Sam and his martyr complex. But Sam was still his brother. "I get it. You tried to do right by me, and by you. I don't like how you went about it, and there's a hell of a lot we still need to hash out over late night beers and bad movies. But today was good. I got my pie, and your hair is styled out with enough petroleum products to light you up like a match for our next salt and burn."
"Me and Baby Brother, used to run together…"
"I remember the days, we used to fight together…"
Sam laughed so genuinely that it drew him back in time to being that 23-year-old kid before all his mileage. It felt good. He took the cap from his lap and plopped it on Dean's head. "Whatever you say Hanniger; just stay out of the mines."
"I knew you watched that movie," Dean said with a grin. "Can't beat a classic, Sammy."
Sam smirked. "No, you can't."
Dean tugged up at the brim of the baseball cap on his head to wear it backwards. But it only barely lifted off his head before it stopped. "What the hell?" Dean tried pulling the cap off again and this time something gooey was pulling at his hair. Dean looked at the packet of bubble gum on Sam's side of the car, then glared at his brother. "You didn't! -" Sam looked so innocent that Dean knew the answer.
Sam smirk became a laugh, this time with his deep 31-year-old baritone. "Oh… I did."
Dean tugged at the cap and swore. "Son-of-a-bitch! It's ripping out my hair man!"
"Don't worry, " Sam reassured and laughed at the same time. "We'll skip the peanut butter, ice and electric razor, and go straight for hot women, coconut oil and shampooing."
"If that weren't so appealing to me, I'd a killed you by now. I still might," Dean reached over and gave Sam a good slap across the top of his head, satisfied when it made Sam curse and rub at the spot. "You're finding a way to keep my pie on ice and buying three rounds at Seven Clans. He did a reverse 180 and went back towards the town. And you're fetching as much cucumber water as I want."
"Deal," Sam loved that Dean looked so pissed. He took his phone out of his pocket, and checked the storage on his phone, making sure there was plenty of room for all the BTS photos he was going to take of Dean at the salon.
ooooooo
VVVVVVVV
ooooooo
End.
Little longer and with a bit more angst than I planned, but I still kept in the humor, because the show has good humor, especially with Sam and Dean messing around with each other. I know there was still going to be tension about Dean with Amelia and Sam with Benny. I never liked Amelia, but she did have pivotal moments that caused Dean's distance from Sam, so that was the only reason I mentioned her. And apologies if I got their ages wrong, I went off what I managed to find on Google. The lyrics at the end of the song are from the song"Me and Baby Brother" by lastly, the mentions of characters in My Bloody Valentine and Friday the 13th was in reference to Jensen as Tom Hanniger, and Jared as Clay Miller respectively.