#aaaand let’s see if this side blog is old enough for my posts to show up in searches now

[hypervoxel]

rip Vox, you would have loved blåhaj

[seenashwrite]

The (Once) Demon Barber From Robintree

Word Count: 1.4K   Category: One-shot, Behind-the-scenes canon compliant, Friendship-Turns-To-More, Humor, Fluff Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, Reader/Female O.C. Pairing(s): Sam x Reader/Female O.C. Warnings: None Author’s Note: *This is a re-post without tags and links in an effort to get it to show in searches*; from a reader’s request to do something involving a haircut Overall Summary: Sometimes accidents *do* happen accidentally, but most of the time, turns out it’s Dean. Now you might lose something you’ve worked hard for - though when it comes to Sam, perhaps you’ll gain something more.

“Peanut butter.”

“Second thing I tried.”

“Olive oil.”

“Third thing.”

“Wait, what was the first thing?”

“When Dean used two handfuls of a $40, six-ounce, brand-new tube of my conditioner.”

“Oh, shut up, Sam!” Dean exclaimed, and when he did, my head snapped to the side.

Because he was in a hand-talking mood. Because he was annoyed. And because his fingers were tangled in my hair.

So I jabbed my elbow behind me, but he dodged it and snickered.

“I’m gonna go get the scissors.”

“No!” Sam and I shouted at the same time.

“No,” I repeated, and quietly, trying to force myself into a calmer state. “This is fixable. We have beaten worse.”

Sam nodded, gave my knee a squeeze, continued to have that never-ending, grade-A, Sam-patented brand of sincere sympathy in his eyes.  

And Dean continued to - I can only assume - pluck individual hairs from my scalp.

Slowly.

“Dean!”

“What?!”

“Bag in the kitchen, on the table - I got shortening, too.”

“I don’t—”

“GET THE DAMN CRISCO, DEAN!”

“Hey, I’m not the one who got the gum in your hair, okay?” he said, coming around the chair to frown at me.

“You’re the one who gave the kid the gum. Still don’t know why—”

“Stopped his crying, didn’t it?”

“—or where you even got the friggin’ stuff!”

“It was on the floor. Y'know, those little machines that got knocked over.”

“You knocked them over!”

“Did you miss all of the vamps in that store?! I’m not bitching about you taking out that mountain of apples—”

“What in the blue HELL do APPLES have to DO with the KID that you THREW at me—”

“I did NOT, I just HANDED him—”

“You LAUNCHED him like you were at the FREE-throw line, you motherf—”

“Okay! Okay, guys!” Sam cut in, standing from his crouched position beside me.

He held his hands up, like he was trying to show a pack of attacking animals that he was no threat. I closed my eyes, since I was getting a migraine. Dean crossed his arms, because he’s twelve.  

“Let’s try this last thing, take a break while it…. while it….”

“Makes her crust all nice and flaky?” Dean asked.

“Ass.”

“Likewise.”

“AAAAND,” Sam cut back in, shooting Dean a look as he did so, “then we’ll discuss cutting. That sound like a plan?”

Dean went off to the kitchen and Sam grabbed one of the other chairs, bringing it over and sitting directly in front of me. I glanced at the table. The remains of our failed experiments looked like some sort of bizarro-world, condiment-based hair salon.

“Hey, talk to me,” Sam said, and I turned my eyes back to his.

“It’s just hair,” I told him. Told myself.

“You trying to convince me?”

Mind-reader. That made me smile. But only a little.

“I’ll cut mine, too,” he added on.

And even though I burst into laughter at the mere thought of it, this - of all things - was what prompted the tears that had been waiting in the wings to finally make their grand entrance.

His forehead immediately creased, then he took both my hands in his, the big softie, and for once I decided to let somebody hold my hand - literally and metaphorically.  And he decided to keep his mouth shut and let me sniffle for the five-point-two seconds I allowed myself to do so.  And then we both decided one of my hands should slip away so I could wipe at my nose with my sleeve.

I let my hand drift to the side, tucking a few gooey pieces of hair behind my ear, let my fingertips slip through, let them run down, all the way to the ends. Kept them there, too. Now I was winding and twisting, something I’d never really done before, but it seemed apt - we were working towards a now or never situation.

“It’s taken years, you know?  It was already short when I was old enough to hunt - Ma always kept it looking like I was two steps away from enlisting my entire childhood. Then it was growing, and I just had to go and chop it because I liked Jody’s haircut so much, and before you say—”

“You pulled it off.”

“—it, no, I did not pull it off.” I looked down at our clasped hands resting on my lap. “Ma said it a million times, if it was too long, it was gonna get in my way.”

“Not exactly what happened, and you had it up… which, you know, is probably how the gum…”

“Oozed from one side to the other when I unwound it? Yeeeeeaahh.”

“Anyway, I’m sure she meant more like… something grabbing onto it, using it against you.”

“Well, I got a feeling that’s not gonna be an issue anymore.”

Dean came walking back in, beer in one hand, scrolling through something on his phone with the other.

Sam waited for him to get well past the threshold of the door, giving him more than a fair shot to tune in to the rest of the world. “Hello?”

Dean looked up, still coming towards us. “Yeah?”

“Where. Is. The. Grease.”

I’d said it with the same growl of an accusation I’d used on that kid, when I’d passed him off to his father and asked after the giant wad missing from his stupid fat cheek.

Dean turned on his heel without breaking stride, heading back upstairs. “If I had a dime for every time a woman said…” he trailed off over his shoulder.

“‘Woman’,” I repeated softly. “Huh. I think that’s my problem. I’m a grown-up. Not supposed to have long, time-consuming, adds-to-an-already-messy-life hair when you’re my age. Supposed to keep it as uncomplicated as possible. So you get whatever TV mom cut’s the most popular at the time. That’s what women do, that’s a thing, right?”

Sam shrugged. "Doesn’t have to be your thing.“ Then he shot me a crooked little grin, ran his free hand through his hair. ”Our thing,“ he clarified.

And something about the way he said it… something about the way he was moving his thumb over my knuckles… if I were honest, something about the way we’d been looking at each other since about five minutes after we met…

"What is gonna be our thing?” I asked.

We were staring at each other, neither of us knowing the answer, when Dean jogged back in, carrying that same beer and nothing else.

“I looked in all the bags, it’s not….” A brief pause while he - accurately - read the mood of the room. “Yeah, well, uh, Imma go check under the seats of the—”

“Hey, Dean?” I interrupted, still looking at Sam.

“Hmmm?”

“Just go find something to whack this crap off, will ya?”

“Awesome!”

I swear to god, it sounded like he skipped down the hallway.

“I’ll do it,” Sam told me.

“You’ll get all nervous.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re nervous right now.”

We’d been drifting closer, ever-so-slightly, and now were almost nose-to-nose.

“First kisses tend to do that,” he whispered against my lips.

Eventually Dean bounded back into the room, and we pulled apart, turning at the same time to see him standing there with a no-nonsense expression on his face. He was flipping an angel blade. His eyes were practically dilated, and were absolutely sparkling with glee.

“Scissors are busted. Gotta do this cowboy-style!”

“Did you get possessed between here and your room!? And cowboys didn’t—-”

“I’ll do it,” Sam repeated, this time with more authority and beginning to rise from his chair, but ol’ Sweeney Dean had already come behind me and snatched up the middle section of my hair.

“Hey, knock yourself out - of the two of us, ain’t nobody calling me the hair expert,” Dean said, and he flipped the blade one last time, holding it handle-first towards Sam.

“No, no, no,” I told Sam, and he sat again.

“Are you sure?”

“Your job is to hold my hand." And I gripped both of his, probably too hard, but Sam just smiled.

"Long as you need.”

“Won’t be long at all!” Dean announced, and I gasped at the sudden lightness, cool air hitting the back of my neck for the first time in what felt like eons.  

He actually chuckled at my reaction, the maniac, now stepping to the side to continue his hack-job. Sam’s smile turned toothy, though, and my shoulders instantly relaxed - another thing that had seemed eons-gone. Part of me wondered if I’d just traded one set of tangles for another.

That is, til he slipped a hand out from mine and ran it across the side of my neck, then to the back, rubbing gently as Dean kept lopping away.

“This is good,” he said.

“Not bad,” Dean agreed.

“It’s perfect,” I told them.

And it has been.

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