Haircut
Title: Haircut
Author: brosedshield
Disclaimer: If anyone owns anything in this relationship, Supernatural owns my heart. And won't give it back. And won't pay me for it. (i.e. Don't own, don't profit)
Characters: Sam, Deanna, John
Rating: PG
Word count: 1170
Spoilers: none (preseries)
Summary: Deanna (11) cuts her hair.
Author notes: This is the first ever Deanna fic lavinialavender and I wrote. She beta'd, and you can pretty much assume that will always be true, because I can't imagine writing a Deanna fic without her input.
Dad never called her princess again after Mom died. Older, when she was drunk enough to let herself think about it calmly, it made perfect sense. On that night of November the second, John Winchester had learned that women he loved died. Therefore, his little daughter Deanna would have to stop being that girl.
At eleven, Deanna Winchester stared at herself in the mirror and hated her hair. It grew too damn fast to keep out of her eyes if she kept it as short as Sammy’s, and her tendency to trim it with her hunting knife made it ragged. She didn’t give a damn what they called her in school, but her brown hair was impossible to keep in a pony without wisps getting out. And even when she didn’t have hair in her face, she hated the tail. Too easy for someone to grab. Last school some asshole had gotten a grip on it, and she’d practically had to feed him his balls before he let go. Fucker had made Sam cry, though, so he deserved it.
“Dee? You okay?” Sam sounded worried.
Deanna looked up, and hated how his eyes had scrunched up. “Yeah. Fine, Sam. Hey, you think I need a haircut?”
Sammy shrugged. “You look fine to me.”
Trust little brothers to say the right thing. Any way she looked, she knew that Sam would still be there. She would never let him down. But that didn’t mean she had to put up with the freaking hair.
Deanna pushed off from the mirror. “Yeah, but you’re looking a little shaggy. Let’s go.”
Sam looked suspicious, but got up. “Where are we going?”
Deanna tucked the big knife into the back of her pants and made sure the little ones were easy to reach in her boots. “There’s a haircut place down the street.”
“You’re not just going to cut it this time?”
She was sick of Sam getting snickered at because of the way she cut his hair. Maybe she could figure it out if she watched it someone do it once. “Nope.”
There were only two stylists working and one was in the middle of a spirited gossip and shampooing session with a heavy woman with more rings than fingers. The other woman raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say a word when Deanna leaned against the glass to watch how she lathered, rinsed, combed and trimmed Sammy’s hair.
Deanna had to admit, her kid brother looked a heck of a lot cuter now than when she pared his hair down with the pocketknife.
“You want something, hun?” the hair dresser asked.
“What?” Deanna jerked upright, realizing only then that she had been staring into space. Damn, Deanna, get a hold of yourself. She shouldn't have been drifting like that, staring at her brother’s head thinking about hair styles. Anything could have come in while she was letting herself be a freaking girl, and she would have been that much slower to defend her brother.
The older woman nodded at the chair while Sam climbed out, shaking his head like a dog, getting used to the new, shorter hair. “He’s done, hun. You want a trim too?”
Being a girl made you weak and never got you anything but dead. She’d be damned before she let anything happen to Sammy because she had been distracted by her goddamned hair.
Deanna went over and climbed into the chair. “Sammy, don’t go anywhere, this won’t take long.” To the hairdresser: “Cut it all off.”
The woman started running the water. “How short you want it, hun?”
“Give me a buzzcut,” she said. “Like a Marine.”
The woman stopped and raised both eyebrows. “Now what are your parents going to say about that?”
If she ever let something happen to Sammy, Dad would never forgive her.
“Dad’s a Marine. He’s fine with it. Right, Sammy?”
Sam almost jumped at his name and took a couple seconds before catching the lie. He’d been as surprised as the woman at Deanna’s order, but she hadn’t noticed.
He smiled up at her, doing that puppy-dog thing with his eyes that could convince nice people anywhere to do anything he wanted. Didn’t work as well on bad people, but that was why Sammy would always have Deanna.
“Dee wants it really badly,” Sam said. “Dad won’t mind.”
The woman looked dubious, but she turned off the water and got out a shiny electric razor. “You’re sure about this, hun?”
Sam glanced once at Deanna, and she gave him the look. Sam didn’t look convinced, but when he hit the woman again with his smile she didn’t see anything but what he wanted her to believe.
“Please?” Sam said.
Deanna closed her eyes while her hair went away. Once or twice, her hand drifted sideways until she could touch her brother’s sleeve, just to make sure he was still there.
When Dad came home from the hunt, he dumped his duffle bag on the bed before he turned around and really looked at her. Then he froze. Deanna waited, tense, suddenly not sure if she had done the right thing. She liked not needing to fiddle with combing her hair, tying it back, or pinning it up, but it still felt strange to try and run a hand through her bangs and find nothing but stubble.
John Winchester stared for a long moment, the circles under his eyes darker than they had been before he left. He had a bandage over one bicep, and Deanna had noticed him favoring his right leg again. She could feel her stomach dropping the longer he looked at her, her hands clenching into fists. What if he didn’t approve? There was no way she could take it back. If she had thought about it, she would have kept the shredded brown strands, told Sam to put them together. Then she could have glued them back on, put them together, or something. Damnit, why couldn’t she do anything right. Sam watched them from one of the motel beds, tense and staring.
But in the end Dad looked away, looked at Sam before looking back at Deanna. “You guys were all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir.” Deanna felt her fists relax while something she wouldn’t even think about inside her curled in on itself a little more, a little smaller and easier to shove aside. “Are you okay, sir?”
John gave her a sharp look, but eventually nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
Dad never brought it up, but after he left for his next hunt, when her hair had already grown out half an inch, she found an electric razor in the drawer with her tampons. She left it curled up in its cord, closed the drawer, and absolutely refused to think about any possible reason that she would want to cry.
Author: brosedshield
Disclaimer: If anyone owns anything in this relationship, Supernatural owns my heart. And won't give it back. And won't pay me for it. (i.e. Don't own, don't profit)
Characters: Sam, Deanna, John
Rating: PG
Word count: 1170
Spoilers: none (preseries)
Summary: Deanna (11) cuts her hair.
Author notes: This is the first ever Deanna fic lavinialavender and I wrote. She beta'd, and you can pretty much assume that will always be true, because I can't imagine writing a Deanna fic without her input.
Dad never called her princess again after Mom died. Older, when she was drunk enough to let herself think about it calmly, it made perfect sense. On that night of November the second, John Winchester had learned that women he loved died. Therefore, his little daughter Deanna would have to stop being that girl.
At eleven, Deanna Winchester stared at herself in the mirror and hated her hair. It grew too damn fast to keep out of her eyes if she kept it as short as Sammy’s, and her tendency to trim it with her hunting knife made it ragged. She didn’t give a damn what they called her in school, but her brown hair was impossible to keep in a pony without wisps getting out. And even when she didn’t have hair in her face, she hated the tail. Too easy for someone to grab. Last school some asshole had gotten a grip on it, and she’d practically had to feed him his balls before he let go. Fucker had made Sam cry, though, so he deserved it.
“Dee? You okay?” Sam sounded worried.
Deanna looked up, and hated how his eyes had scrunched up. “Yeah. Fine, Sam. Hey, you think I need a haircut?”
Sammy shrugged. “You look fine to me.”
Trust little brothers to say the right thing. Any way she looked, she knew that Sam would still be there. She would never let him down. But that didn’t mean she had to put up with the freaking hair.
Deanna pushed off from the mirror. “Yeah, but you’re looking a little shaggy. Let’s go.”
Sam looked suspicious, but got up. “Where are we going?”
Deanna tucked the big knife into the back of her pants and made sure the little ones were easy to reach in her boots. “There’s a haircut place down the street.”
“You’re not just going to cut it this time?”
She was sick of Sam getting snickered at because of the way she cut his hair. Maybe she could figure it out if she watched it someone do it once. “Nope.”
There were only two stylists working and one was in the middle of a spirited gossip and shampooing session with a heavy woman with more rings than fingers. The other woman raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say a word when Deanna leaned against the glass to watch how she lathered, rinsed, combed and trimmed Sammy’s hair.
Deanna had to admit, her kid brother looked a heck of a lot cuter now than when she pared his hair down with the pocketknife.
“You want something, hun?” the hair dresser asked.
“What?” Deanna jerked upright, realizing only then that she had been staring into space. Damn, Deanna, get a hold of yourself. She shouldn't have been drifting like that, staring at her brother’s head thinking about hair styles. Anything could have come in while she was letting herself be a freaking girl, and she would have been that much slower to defend her brother.
The older woman nodded at the chair while Sam climbed out, shaking his head like a dog, getting used to the new, shorter hair. “He’s done, hun. You want a trim too?”
Being a girl made you weak and never got you anything but dead. She’d be damned before she let anything happen to Sammy because she had been distracted by her goddamned hair.
Deanna went over and climbed into the chair. “Sammy, don’t go anywhere, this won’t take long.” To the hairdresser: “Cut it all off.”
The woman started running the water. “How short you want it, hun?”
“Give me a buzzcut,” she said. “Like a Marine.”
The woman stopped and raised both eyebrows. “Now what are your parents going to say about that?”
If she ever let something happen to Sammy, Dad would never forgive her.
“Dad’s a Marine. He’s fine with it. Right, Sammy?”
Sam almost jumped at his name and took a couple seconds before catching the lie. He’d been as surprised as the woman at Deanna’s order, but she hadn’t noticed.
He smiled up at her, doing that puppy-dog thing with his eyes that could convince nice people anywhere to do anything he wanted. Didn’t work as well on bad people, but that was why Sammy would always have Deanna.
“Dee wants it really badly,” Sam said. “Dad won’t mind.”
The woman looked dubious, but she turned off the water and got out a shiny electric razor. “You’re sure about this, hun?”
Sam glanced once at Deanna, and she gave him the look. Sam didn’t look convinced, but when he hit the woman again with his smile she didn’t see anything but what he wanted her to believe.
“Please?” Sam said.
Deanna closed her eyes while her hair went away. Once or twice, her hand drifted sideways until she could touch her brother’s sleeve, just to make sure he was still there.
When Dad came home from the hunt, he dumped his duffle bag on the bed before he turned around and really looked at her. Then he froze. Deanna waited, tense, suddenly not sure if she had done the right thing. She liked not needing to fiddle with combing her hair, tying it back, or pinning it up, but it still felt strange to try and run a hand through her bangs and find nothing but stubble.
John Winchester stared for a long moment, the circles under his eyes darker than they had been before he left. He had a bandage over one bicep, and Deanna had noticed him favoring his right leg again. She could feel her stomach dropping the longer he looked at her, her hands clenching into fists. What if he didn’t approve? There was no way she could take it back. If she had thought about it, she would have kept the shredded brown strands, told Sam to put them together. Then she could have glued them back on, put them together, or something. Damnit, why couldn’t she do anything right. Sam watched them from one of the motel beds, tense and staring.
But in the end Dad looked away, looked at Sam before looking back at Deanna. “You guys were all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir.” Deanna felt her fists relax while something she wouldn’t even think about inside her curled in on itself a little more, a little smaller and easier to shove aside. “Are you okay, sir?”
John gave her a sharp look, but eventually nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
Dad never brought it up, but after he left for his next hunt, when her hair had already grown out half an inch, she found an electric razor in the drawer with her tampons. She left it curled up in its cord, closed the drawer, and absolutely refused to think about any possible reason that she would want to cry.