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medicinal_mirthTitle: Fantastic Sam
Rating: PG for some colorful language.
Word Count: 1152
Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures – especially when Dean holds the clippers.
A/N: This might possibly be the silliest Supernatural fic I've ever written. I don't care. Based on two different prompts.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
luzdeestrellas gave me "Sam needs a haircut" and ignipes gave me "the real reason Dean teases Sam about dolls." Or something like that. And if you don't get the title after reading this, well then, there's about as much hope for you as there was for Sammy. Totally unbeta'd, so don't go stealing credit for my errors in grammar, spelling, and judgement. :D
Fantastic Sam
"No! No way!"
Sam made a break for the bathroom door but Dean grabbed him by the elbow and flung him around, back onto the toilet seat. "Where do you think you're going, Rapunzel?"
"Shut! Up! And stop calling me that! My hair isn't that long!"
Dean just raised a skeptical eyebrow, but Dad suddenly turned up in the doorway, effectively blocking any more escape attempts.
"Sammy, your hair might not be as long as Rapunzel's, but you're practically as blind as one of those mice that had their tails cut off," Dad insisted. "Only we're dealing with things a helluva lot more dangerous than a farmer's wife."
Sam tried not to do it, he really did, but fairy tales and nursery rhymes? He rolled his eyes.
"God damn it, Sam!" Dad yelled. "You are getting a God damn haircut within the next week! If you don't let Dean use the clippers on you right now–"
Sam jumped a foot when the clippers buzzed to life in Dean's hand.
"–then you're gonna have to cut it yourself! I ain't paying for any barbershop haircut, we need our money for more important things."
Sam stood up and puffed out his chest as far as any twelve-year-old chest could possibly manage. "And if I don't?"
Dad narrowed his eyes and leaned down until they were eye to eye and nose to nose. "Then I 'll personally shave your head. With a straight razor. No shaving cream, just soap and water."
Oh. Oh shit.
"One week, Sammy. One week."
Dad straightened up and calmly walked out of the bathroom. The front door to their kitchenette opened and shut loudly, and Sam jumped again.
"You sure you don't want me to take care of you right now, Sammy?" Dean offered, grinning maniacally.
Sam stared at his brother's head. One lingering look at the high and tight Dad had given Dean was enough to steel Sam's resolve.
"No way."
"Fine by me," Dean said as he unplugged the clippers and put them back in the shaving kit. "Say, ain't your school doing 'The King and I'? After the week's up, you could play Yul Brynner's part."
Shit shit shit shit... he thought over and over as he swiped too long bangs out of his eyes.
*****
"Sam Winchester, I'm not that kind of girl!"
"Shhhhhhh!" Sam urged as the after-school crowd turned shocked eyes their way. "Come on, Andi, you've got to help me," he pleaded, head hung low. "You're the only girl I know."
Andi grabbed him by the arm and dragged him further down the sidewalk, away from any possible busybodies.
"Sam, have you seriously not noticed that my hair is shorter than yours? What the hell do I know about giving haircuts?"
"Well, you'd sure as hell do a better job on my hair than I could," he replied, self-consciously tucking errant strands of hair behind his ears.
"Well, duh! But it doesn't matter. I still can't do it."
"Why not?"
"Because if you come home with a decent hair cut that you didn't do yourself, your daddy's gonna know. They're like that."
Sam knew she meant Marines, not just dads. Both their dads had served in Vietnam, during several of same years even. Sam was sure it was the only reason Dad tolerated him hanging out with her so much after school, rather than pestering him about training all the time.
"Come on." Andi had taken hold of his arm again and was steering him toward her house.
"What–"
She looked at him with a gleam in her eyes that made Sam think that maybe a little knife throwing practice wasn't such a bad idea right about now.
"Sam, I've got a great idea!"
*****
Snip.
There. That was better. The right side looked even with the left now – oh, wait. Missed a spot.
Snip. Snip.
Yeah. That worked. He still hadn't gotten it over the ears yet, but he was slowly working his way there. It'd be all right.
Snip. Snipsnip.
Andi was a good friend. Sam had been worried when she insisted he do this at his own place, but seeing as her dad was home and her sister was due back from ballet any minute, it made sense. They might not have understood.
Andi shoved him out the door with a brown paper bag and a furtively whispered, "Let me know how it turns out!" and he'd answered, "Of course you'll know how it turns out, you'll see my head!" and he'd walked on home – well, to the "residential hotel" where they were staying for now.
Luckily, neither Dad or Dean were around (solving the delicate problem of how he was going to sneak the bag past them). There was just a note on the fridge, saying they'd "Gone to see a show" about seven miles east and that he'd find canned chili and white bread in the cupboard.
Sam had the place to himself. He set up in the bathroom and went to work.
Snip.
Not too shabby, if he did say so himself. Once he finished practicing, Sam was sure he'd have no problem giving himself a decent–
"What the fuck are you doing."
Sam dropped the scissors and they made an eerily loud clink as they bounced off the rusty faucet and clattered forlornly into the sink.
"Dean. Um. I can explain."
"I'll bet you can. What the hell is that."
"Um. Dean, please. Dad–"
"Ain't here. That werewolf sighting turned out to be a drunk bag lady with a fondness for fake fur and romps in the woods. Dad had me drop him at the bar. Now, Sammy. Is there something you want to tell me... or is this something I'd really rather not know but I'm gonna make you tell me anyway?"
Sam could feel his face burning up red. There really was no way out of this that wouldn't lead to years of torment and shame at the hands of his devoted big brother.
Sam told him the truth.
"What now? You're mumbling."
"It's a Barbie Styling Head, all right! It's Andi's little sister's. Andi gave it to me so I could... practice cutting hair."
Sam stared at his feet, waiting for it; he didn't have to wait long.
"Andi... your little girlfriend gave you..." That was all Dean managed before he doubled over with laughter, his arms grasping his belly as is if he thought something was gonna fall out of it. Sam wished something was falling out of it, like all of Dean's intestines and other important internal organs, the jerkwad.
"Well, and haven't you done a pretty job, there Sammy. That Jose Eber guy ain't got nothing on you!"
By now Dean was sitting on the floor, in the doorway, and once again Sam had no way of escaping the bathroom unscathed; no way to escape whatsoever.
"Shut up, Dean, and get out the damn clippers."
END
Rating: PG for some colorful language.
Word Count: 1152
Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures – especially when Dean holds the clippers.
A/N: This might possibly be the silliest Supernatural fic I've ever written. I don't care. Based on two different prompts.
luzdeestrellas gave me "Sam needs a haircut" and ignipes gave me "the real reason Dean teases Sam about dolls." Or something like that. And if you don't get the title after reading this, well then, there's about as much hope for you as there was for Sammy. Totally unbeta'd, so don't go stealing credit for my errors in grammar, spelling, and judgement. :DFantastic Sam
"No! No way!"
Sam made a break for the bathroom door but Dean grabbed him by the elbow and flung him around, back onto the toilet seat. "Where do you think you're going, Rapunzel?"
"Shut! Up! And stop calling me that! My hair isn't that long!"
Dean just raised a skeptical eyebrow, but Dad suddenly turned up in the doorway, effectively blocking any more escape attempts.
"Sammy, your hair might not be as long as Rapunzel's, but you're practically as blind as one of those mice that had their tails cut off," Dad insisted. "Only we're dealing with things a helluva lot more dangerous than a farmer's wife."
Sam tried not to do it, he really did, but fairy tales and nursery rhymes? He rolled his eyes.
"God damn it, Sam!" Dad yelled. "You are getting a God damn haircut within the next week! If you don't let Dean use the clippers on you right now–"
Sam jumped a foot when the clippers buzzed to life in Dean's hand.
"–then you're gonna have to cut it yourself! I ain't paying for any barbershop haircut, we need our money for more important things."
Sam stood up and puffed out his chest as far as any twelve-year-old chest could possibly manage. "And if I don't?"
Dad narrowed his eyes and leaned down until they were eye to eye and nose to nose. "Then I 'll personally shave your head. With a straight razor. No shaving cream, just soap and water."
Oh. Oh shit.
"One week, Sammy. One week."
Dad straightened up and calmly walked out of the bathroom. The front door to their kitchenette opened and shut loudly, and Sam jumped again.
"You sure you don't want me to take care of you right now, Sammy?" Dean offered, grinning maniacally.
Sam stared at his brother's head. One lingering look at the high and tight Dad had given Dean was enough to steel Sam's resolve.
"No way."
"Fine by me," Dean said as he unplugged the clippers and put them back in the shaving kit. "Say, ain't your school doing 'The King and I'? After the week's up, you could play Yul Brynner's part."
Shit shit shit shit... he thought over and over as he swiped too long bangs out of his eyes.
*****
"Sam Winchester, I'm not that kind of girl!"
"Shhhhhhh!" Sam urged as the after-school crowd turned shocked eyes their way. "Come on, Andi, you've got to help me," he pleaded, head hung low. "You're the only girl I know."
Andi grabbed him by the arm and dragged him further down the sidewalk, away from any possible busybodies.
"Sam, have you seriously not noticed that my hair is shorter than yours? What the hell do I know about giving haircuts?"
"Well, you'd sure as hell do a better job on my hair than I could," he replied, self-consciously tucking errant strands of hair behind his ears.
"Well, duh! But it doesn't matter. I still can't do it."
"Why not?"
"Because if you come home with a decent hair cut that you didn't do yourself, your daddy's gonna know. They're like that."
Sam knew she meant Marines, not just dads. Both their dads had served in Vietnam, during several of same years even. Sam was sure it was the only reason Dad tolerated him hanging out with her so much after school, rather than pestering him about training all the time.
"Come on." Andi had taken hold of his arm again and was steering him toward her house.
"What–"
She looked at him with a gleam in her eyes that made Sam think that maybe a little knife throwing practice wasn't such a bad idea right about now.
"Sam, I've got a great idea!"
*****
Snip.
There. That was better. The right side looked even with the left now – oh, wait. Missed a spot.
Snip. Snip.
Yeah. That worked. He still hadn't gotten it over the ears yet, but he was slowly working his way there. It'd be all right.
Snip. Snipsnip.
Andi was a good friend. Sam had been worried when she insisted he do this at his own place, but seeing as her dad was home and her sister was due back from ballet any minute, it made sense. They might not have understood.
Andi shoved him out the door with a brown paper bag and a furtively whispered, "Let me know how it turns out!" and he'd answered, "Of course you'll know how it turns out, you'll see my head!" and he'd walked on home – well, to the "residential hotel" where they were staying for now.
Luckily, neither Dad or Dean were around (solving the delicate problem of how he was going to sneak the bag past them). There was just a note on the fridge, saying they'd "Gone to see a show" about seven miles east and that he'd find canned chili and white bread in the cupboard.
Sam had the place to himself. He set up in the bathroom and went to work.
Snip.
Not too shabby, if he did say so himself. Once he finished practicing, Sam was sure he'd have no problem giving himself a decent–
"What the fuck are you doing."
Sam dropped the scissors and they made an eerily loud clink as they bounced off the rusty faucet and clattered forlornly into the sink.
"Dean. Um. I can explain."
"I'll bet you can. What the hell is that."
"Um. Dean, please. Dad–"
"Ain't here. That werewolf sighting turned out to be a drunk bag lady with a fondness for fake fur and romps in the woods. Dad had me drop him at the bar. Now, Sammy. Is there something you want to tell me... or is this something I'd really rather not know but I'm gonna make you tell me anyway?"
Sam could feel his face burning up red. There really was no way out of this that wouldn't lead to years of torment and shame at the hands of his devoted big brother.
Sam told him the truth.
"What now? You're mumbling."
"It's a Barbie Styling Head, all right! It's Andi's little sister's. Andi gave it to me so I could... practice cutting hair."
Sam stared at his feet, waiting for it; he didn't have to wait long.
"Andi... your little girlfriend gave you..." That was all Dean managed before he doubled over with laughter, his arms grasping his belly as is if he thought something was gonna fall out of it. Sam wished something was falling out of it, like all of Dean's intestines and other important internal organs, the jerkwad.
"Well, and haven't you done a pretty job, there Sammy. That Jose Eber guy ain't got nothing on you!"
By now Dean was sitting on the floor, in the doorway, and once again Sam had no way of escaping the bathroom unscathed; no way to escape whatsoever.
"Shut up, Dean, and get out the damn clippers."
END
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 05:41 am (UTC)Oh, Sammy!
*giggles*
no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 01:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 06:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 01:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 11:05 am (UTC)This is awesome.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 01:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 11:35 am (UTC)Loved it - poor Sammy! Just wish Dean would get the clippers out in the show...
no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 01:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 12:49 pm (UTC)*lol*
Hahah! So cute!
no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 01:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 01:19 pm (UTC)So cute!
no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 01:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 01:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 01:25 pm (UTC)Just what I was hoping, thank you!
no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 03:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 03:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 03:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 03:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 10:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 02:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 10:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 02:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 02:31 am (UTC)I love the opening scene especially, with psycho!Dean and the clippers. Closing scenes was great, too. Sam practicing on the Barbie … LOL!
Favorite lines:
"God damn it, Sam!" Dad yelled. "You are getting a God damn haircut within the next week! If you don't let Dean use the clippers on you right now–"
Sam jumped a foot when the clippers buzzed to life in Dean's hand.
LOL! You know Dean had a blast terrorizing Sam with the clippers. *snickers*
no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 04:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 03:53 am (UTC)Family secret time,my grandfather is a barber now, but long before went to barber school, shortly after they were married, he attempted to cut my grandmother's bangs for her, right before they went to get their pictures made. I've seen the pictures.... Let's just say he swore her to secrecy about who had done it.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 04:26 am (UTC)Thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed this. :D
no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 05:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 03:29 pm (UTC)