Word Count: 495
A/N: Written for my comment-fic meme, the prompt was from mymuseandi , who wanted Dean to give Sam a haircut to save money. It was up to me whether the haircut was good or not.
Summary: When you can't afford a hairdresser, your brother will have to do...
Sam watched as Dean squinted at him and unconsciously pressed his tongue to the side of his mouth in concentration. It was doing nothing for Sam’s nerves. Dean tugged at Sam’s hair.
“Shhh,” Dean said. “Don’t talk, you move your head too much when you talk.”
“I think the right side is a little shorter than the left, give me a sec,” Dean said. “I just need to even it out.”
“Dean, you just supposedly evened out the left side,” Sam said.
“Yeah, well, you’re the one that wouldn’t let me use the clippers, it’s not my fault this is difficult,” Dean replied.
“You’re the one that wouldn’t let me get it done professionally!” Sam said, “And I don’t want it short.”
“Yeah, well, credit fraud is a tricky business,” Dean said. “I promise I’ll get us a new card soon, but in the meantime, we gotta save where we can.”
“I know,” Sam said. “Just, don’t make it too short.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t see why, though, this ridiculous mop of yours is hardly practical,” Dean replied.
“Can’t I have one thing that’s not practical?” Sam asked quietly.
Dean frowned, and then moved out of Sam’s line of sight, seemingly deciding that the sides were alright and it was time to work on the back. Sam closed his eyes and tried to tell himself this hadn’t been a horrible mistake. He had just taken consolation in the fact that hair grows, when he heard the clippers whir to life.
“Dean!” Sam said, instinctively ducking out from under Dean’s hands.
“Relax, man,” Dean said. “I’m just shaving the back of your neck. No girl is ever going to touch you if you have that much goddamn neck hair.”
“Oh,” Sam said, relaxing back into the chair, and letting his head fall forward to give Dean better access.
“Alright, go check it out,” Dean said, when he was done. Sam practically ran to the bathroom, both wanting to confirm that he still had hair, and dreading what he might see.
It...was pretty good, actually. A bit shorter than usual, but then, that was sort of the point of haircuts. It still curled a little around his ears, while his long bangs tickled the edges of his cheekbones, highlighting rather than hiding them. Also, instead of lying flat and annoying on his head, his hair seemed to have a little – well, movement and life to it. Dean appeared behind Sam in his reflection, standing uncertainly at the bathroom door.
“And?” Dean said.
“It’s good,” Sam said.
“Good,” Dean said. “I uh, gave you some layers – so you know...um...body.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, “I like it.” He waited until he saw Dean’s proud smile, and then he added, “You totally missed your calling Zohann.”
“Oh shut-up,” Dean said. “Come on, I believe you promised that, if I didn’t ruin your pretty princess hair, you’d buy me a beer and some pie.”
Sam laughed and got his coat.
Title: The Winchester Boys
Word Count: 500
Summary: Written for my comment-fic meme, this request was from yourkidney , who wanted the boys to go shopping at Goodwill and then out for coffee - where Dean would read Gaiman and Sam would read National Geographic.
“Whatta ya got for me, man?” Sam’s voice came from the other-side of the rack of jeans.
“Three pairs of longs that might fit,” Dean replied, handing over the jeans that were slung over his left arm. “Anything good for me in the shirt racks?”
“Yeah,” Sam said smiling widely, “I found that brand you like in three colours!”
“Awesome,” Dean said, “hand them over.”
As Sam thrust a handful of hangers into Dean’s hand, Dean caught sight of the other shirts Sam had piled over his other arm.
“Orange, man? Really?” Dean said. “I know you like plaid, but please remember that I’m the one that has to look at you.”
“They do up with snaps...” Sam shrugged. “I like snaps. Orange isn’t that bad.”
“Man, no wonder you never get laid,” Dean said. “Go try on the jeans, make sure they fit – denim don’t make good rags.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were shuffling slowly through the cash, and then out into the sunshine again. Dean dropped his change in the hat of the homeless dude sitting outside on the sidewalk, and then they walked the three blocks over to the Laundromat.
“Go get me some coffee, while I wash these perfectly clean clothes,” Dean told Sam, already taking the Goodwill bag out of Sam’s hands.
“Dean, you know they spray those stores with pesticides,” Sam said. “It’s not healthy.”
“Our whole lives aren’t healthy,” Dean muttered.
“Doesn’t mean we should compound the problem,” Sam replied. Dean just rolled his eyes and shouldered his way into the Laundromat, while Sam jogged across the road to the donut shop.
Ten minutes later, Dean was wedged into an uncomfortable plastic chair, beside a whirring washing machine. He had just fished his worn copy of Anansi Boys out of his jacket pocket, when Sam plunked a box of donuts and a coffee down on the small table beside him.
“How many times have you read that book now?” Sam laughed.
“Shut-up, I like it,” Dean said, taking a sip from his coffee.
“Oh cool,” Sam said, causing Dean to look up from page 42 long enough to see that Sam had caught sight of the National Geographic that someone had left on the table. At Dean’s look, Sam said, “shut-up, it has a fold-out map of ancient Rome.”
“Right, because I hate it when I end up in ancient Rome without a road-map,” Dean said.
“Dude, you never know,” Sam replied, and Dean had to concede the point.
Dean leaned up against the dryer to his side, and put his feet up on Sam’s lap.
“Really?” Sam said. “At least take your shoes off!”
“You do it, I’m trying to read, and I'm still sore from that frickin’ poltergeist,” Dean replied. Sam sighed heavily and opened his geeky magazine, and Dean went back to reading. He smiled to himself, when, two minutes later, he felt Sam’s hands carefully undoing his bootlaces. Yeah, Dean loved Hunting, but sometimes he loved the time in between cases more.