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Dean remembers when Sam’s baby hair grew out enough for no-tear shampoo bubble mohawks. He was about 2 years old and Dean, only 6 years old, was in charge of every aspect of Sam’s care.
A few months later, Sam was constantly blinking his bangs out of his eyes. He would shake his head or push his hair up, only for it to fall back 5 seconds later.
John didn’t notice. He rarely noticed the little things about Sam. Or Dean.
“Dad,” Dean spoke up. “Sam’s hair is too long. Can you cut it like mine?”
John put down his newspapers and red sharpie. He looked at Dean, holding the electric shaver up for him.
“I don’t have time for this, Dean.”
“But Sammy-“
“Don’t,” John cut him off with a sharp look. “I’ll teach you how to do your own, then you can do it for your brother, ok?”
“Ok, Dad.”
Dean’s hair turned out alright with John’s guidance. He didn’t know what he’d do when they stayed at a motel without a body-length mirror attached to the door, but he supposed that was a problem for another day.
When John left to go back to his newspapers, he called for Sam to go in the bathroom with Dean.
“Gotta cut your hair, Sammy,” Dean explained.
“Why?” he asked, like he did all the time these days.
“Because it’s getting in your eyes when you play. It’s annoying, isn’t it? Now, come here.”
Sam stepped into the tub and took off his shirt, like Dean. He eyed the dirty blond hair littering the bottom of the tub apprehensively.
Dean brushed his fingers through Sam’s hair. He never realized how much softer it was than his own. Perhaps he shouldn’t shave it off the way John did. But he didn’t know any other way to do it.
He clicked on the razor. It was a noise Sam heard almost every day, but when it got closer to his face, he jerked away.
Dean groaned, feeling exasperated already.
“Scary,” Sam said quietly, looking at his feet.
Now neither of them wanted to do this. Dean put down the razor, running his fingers through Sam’s hair again.
“Hmm,” Dean hummed thoughtfully. Then he pushed his bangs to the side, giving them an adorable little swoop.
Sam blinked up with his bright green eyes. Maybe this would work. “Alright, go play Sammy.”
Throughout the day, Sam’s hair would fall in his eyes. But Dean would be there to swoop it back. Before too long, Sam got the hang of it and did it himself.
John either chose not to comment on Sam’s lack of a haircut or he didn’t notice.
The topic of Sam’s hair didn’t come up again for a few years. When Sam was 5 years old, he was about to enter Kindergarten. Dean was 9 years old and going into 4th grade.
On a rare afternoon when John wanted to take Sam out for one-on-one time, Dean went out to the arcade and played for hours.
When he returned to the motel, Sam’s hair was buzz cut like his and John’s.
“What did you do?” he gasped in shock.
John raised an eyebrow in warning.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Dean said quickly.
“He’s starting school tomorrow. Sam’s not a kid anymore, needs to be brave like a man. Now he looks like one, too. Got a problem with that, son?”
“No, Dad,” his oldest replied with a sigh.
“That’s what I thought.”
When John went to sleep that night, believing that Sam and Dean were both asleep, Dean stayed awake. He got out of bed and walked quietly to the couch.
Sam was fast asleep, half covered by his blanket, laying on his stomach.
Dean carefully stroked his short hair. He knew he couldn’t get away with this affection in front of John anymore.
Sam’s eyes fluttered open. “Dean?” he whispered.
Dean hushed him quietly, continuing to pet his head and neck. “Do you like your hair?”
Whether Sam actually liked it or not will always be a mystery. But Sam remembers the pained look in Dean’s eyes.
“No?”
Dean sighed in relief, ignoring how Sam wasn’t really telling him. He just wanted to answer the question right.
“It’ll grow out again. Just tell Dad you don’t want it short the next time he mentions it, ok?”
“Ok, Dean,” Sam said quietly, closing his eyes and leaning into his big brother’s touch.
Over the years, Sam told John he didn’t want his hair like his and Dean’s. John began to realize how “rebellious” and stubborn Sam could be.
Somewhere along the line, Dean started teasing Sam about his hair. But that was his job – Teasing his little brother. Annoying his little brother. And pranking his little brother.
That’s what lead to the inevitable escalation of their prank wars.
Sam is 14 years old and Dean is 18 years old. During their brief time at Truman High School in Indiana, Dean paused his pranks while he was distracted by a few of his female classmates.
But Sam was so bummed as they checked into their first hotel in the next state over – Dean felt compelled to help his little brother out by taking his mind off his disappointment with a prank.
Dean snuck into Sam’s duffel and emptied out his shampoo. He nicked a bottle of Nair hair removal from a convenience store and filled the shampoo bottle with it.
He waited impatiently outside the bathroom, watching the door. He felt a little guilt when he heard Sam’s panicked gasps.
Several minutes later, it seemed to click for Sam. The shower was still running when Sam yanked the curtain back. The door opened to reveal a steamed bathroom and Sam holding a towel to his crotch.
“God fucking damnit, Dean!” Sam screamed at him.
Tears of laughter blurred Dean’s vision. Wet fists aimed at his kidneys didn’t lessen Dean’s amusement.
The bathroom door slammed shut. Dean recovered and used a blanket to dab at his wet shirt and tear-stained face.
He was still chuckling when Sam emerged, fully clothed now.
Dean always talked about this prank as one of his favorites, mercilessly teasing Sam for being bald. But he only does this so Sam thinks it could happen again.
This couldn’t be further from the truth. Dean’s heart breaks when he fully processes Sam without his long, silky hair. His face dropped for only a moment. He couldn’t let Sam see how he really felt, so he forced out more laughter.
Decades later, Sam and Dean find themselves in the Bunker, finally embracing their love for each other on every level. It’s beyond family. It’s soulmates and wanting and needing and things that words can’t begin to describe.
Dean strokes Sam’s hair, kissing his temple. They’re naked, satisfied, and cuddled up together. Dean’s about to fall asleep when Sam inhales to speak, pauses, then lets out the breath with a sigh.
Something as simple as breathing is enough for Dean to know exactly what his little brother is feeling.
“Just say it,” he murmurs.
“Do you like my hair?”
Dean pulls back to look into his eyes. “Of course, Sammy. I love everything about you.”
“Then why did you put Nair in my shampoo?”
Dean huffs a laugh. “That was 30 years ago.”
“26,” Sam corrected.
“Fine, 26 years ago. It was a prank. We were kids. Why are you asking this?”
“Just always wondered why you did it,” Sam looks away before pressing his forehead into Dean’s chest.
“I wanted to get under your skin, like I always do,” Dean trails his fingertips down Sam’s neck and spine before pressing into Sam’s ribs to tickle him.
“Stop, Dean!” Sam laughs, trying to wiggle away.
This makes Dean remember the last time they touched each other playfully like this. It was long before the Nair incident.
Dean lets up, his own smile fading.
“I regretted it, you know?” Dean confesses.
“You did?”
“Yeah, Sammy. Promise I’ll never prank you with Nair again,” Dean pulls him back in to get comfortable, holding Sam tight. When he resumes stroking Sam’s hair, Dean closes his eyes and takes in the moment.
How Sam’s hair feels and smells. How Sam’s muscles relax throughout his whole body under Dean’s touch. And how Dean feels warm and whole in a way he hasn’t felt since he was making those no-tear shampoo bubble mohawks.