Come Together

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Supernatural. If I did it would be a disaster and my head canon would take over the show. So luckily it belongs to the CW and Kripke and people who have more self control and better plots than I do.
Please leave me feedback because I want to get better at writing and fanfictions. ^3^

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Sammy looked in the mirror and grinned. This was gonna be sooooooooo easy. He reached down and picked up the scissors he'd taken from Dean's pencil case, the real metal kind, not the silly baby safety scissors his Dad bought him for school. Sammy wasn't a baby anymore, he was six and a half years old, practically seven, definitely old enough to use grown up scissors. He grabbed a lock of his hair and pulled it taut. It almost reached his nose when he pulled on it; it was too long, girly even.  Dean had short hair like their dad's, like a grown up, Sammy was old enough for a grown up haircut. He was old enough to use grown up scissors, and he was old enough to cut his hair himself.
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Dean sat at the Formica topped table and did his homework. He would have much rather been watching television, or playing pinball in the restaurant across the street, or heck, even training, but his Dad was sitting across from him watching him like a hawk.
"Carry the two Dean." John nodded as Dean completed the sum. "Let me see, good, now try the next one."
Dean stifled a sigh as his father leaned back in his chair and opened his second beer.  It seemed like his dad could bored of just about everything, except watching his son do math. No movie, board game or bedtime story could captivate the guy like correcting Dean's homework.
"Dad, I've been here for an hour." Dean ventured hesitantly.
"Well if you studied while I was away it wouldn't take you nearly as long, now would it?"
"But I hafta help Sammy with his when you aren't here, and the TV guide said that Godzilla was gonna be on at eight and it's almost eight now." Dean explained with nary a breath between words.
"Well Dean sometimes there are more important things in life than watching the same movie for the one hundredth time."
"But, dad-"
"Dean," John interrupted, "School is important, your sums are important, you can watch the movie after your homework. Now, speaking of Sammy, didn't he have homework tonight?"
Dean nodded, "Yeah, but he's been in the bathroom since I started."
John practically jumped out of his seat; an hour was much too long for a six year old to spend in the bathroom.
Sammy didn't know what to do. His hair didn't look anything like Dean's did. Instead of it looking cool and grown up it just sort of looked lopsided, and sad. There was an awful lot of hair on the floor and no matter how hard Sam tried he couldn't get all of it up. He tried sweeping it up with his hands, picking it up one bit at a time, he had even tried wetting it so it would stick to his hands like it did in the bath, but nothing worked.
He sat on the edge of the tub and tried to hold back his tears. The floor was like a big hairy puddle and his hair looked stupid. Dean was going to make fun of him, and his Daddy was gonna to yell. Sam sniffled and bit his lip, grownups didn't cry, not even when their hair looked dumb and they were gonna get in trouble. A little whimper escaped and Sam clamped his hand over his mouth to keep another from following. That's when he heard his Daddy outside the door.
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John could hear Sammy in the bathroom. It sounded like he was trying not to cry, which worried John even more than if the boy had been sobbing. Sam never held back his tears when he was hurt or scared relying on Dean or John to pick up on his discomfort and make the wrong things right again. John heard the whimper that usually began Sam's "waterworks", as Dean had began to call them, but nothing followed.
"Sam? What's going on in there?" There was no reply and John banged on the door and spoke a little louder, panic setting in, "Sammy? Can you hear me? Unlock the door!"
Dean got up and took a tentative step towards the bathroom; his dad was using his angry voice, which Dean knew was really his worried voice; when it came to Sammy anyway. There was a quiet click and the door knob hadn't even moved before his dad yanked it open. Then the waterworks started, complete with broken apologies and hitched breathing.  Dean watched as his father carried his sobbing, half bald baby brother out into the living room/kitchenette area of the motel room.
The laughter left Dean's mouth before he even realized he was going to laugh. The loud guffaw stopped Sammy crying for about five seconds before he started in again, louder.
"Make him stop laughing at meeeeeeeee!"  Sam hiccupped and hid his face in his Daddy's shirt, "I didn't mean to…"
"You think this is funny Dean?" The look on his father's face told Dean that he should definitely not find the situation to be at all humorous.  "Your brother had these," John held up a pair of child size scissors with blue hand grips, "Recognize them?"
Dean felt his stomach drop and resisted the urge to fish the pencil box out of his backpack. He had told Sammy a million bazillion times not to touch his backpack. "Yes sir," Dean felt his face burn with guilt, "Those are my scissors."
"And how did Sam get them?"
"I don't know." Dean shrugged, and straightened up as his Dad glared at him, "I mean, I don't know sir."
"Sam?" John sat the youngest Winchester down on the sofa; he immediately pulled his knees up to his chest and hid his face. "Samuel Winchester, look at me when I am talking to you."  Sammy lifted his red, tear stained face and looked at his daddy, who didn't look half as mad as he sounded.
"Sorry daddy…"
"Sammy how did you get the scissors?" John bent down and asked more calmly.
"Dean's book bag." Sam answered matter of factly, glad that he wasn't being yelled at.
"Wasn't he watching you?" John asked.
"He was watching TV. I'm old enough to play by myself." Sam sat up straighter, like he felt a grownup would, seemingly distracted from the catastrophe at hand by the opportunity to prove his manhood to his daddy.
"Old enough to give yourself a haircut too, huh?" John stifled at chuckle as his youngest puffed his chest out like a gorilla trying to scare off a predator.
Sammy's lower lip wavered as he considered his hair, but his daddy didn't seem so mad anymore, so he ventured an answer, "I just wanted to be like Dean." He looked over at his older brother; Dean was watching the ground intensely, as if the faded green carpet was the most interesting thing in the world. It occurred to Sam that Dean was the one who was in trouble. "My hair was too long so I sneaked the scissors, Dean told me not to touch his bag even; it's not his fault." John looked at his oldest, standing at attention, eyes locked on Sammy in panic and then looked to Sam, eyes glistening with tears and he laughed.
Dean and Sam flinched as their Dad let out a loud clap of laughter. It wasn't often that John Winchester laughed. He had the occasional chuckle when one of his boys said one of those silly things that only little boys can say, and sometimes when he had enough to drink he'd let out a loud round of laughter at the dirty jokes bartenders make, but he seldom had a good hearty laugh; the kind of laugh that means the world is alright.
"It's ok Sammy." He said, the laughter subsiding.
"So Dean isn't in trouble?" Sam asked hopefully.
"No," John said with a devilish grin, "He is, in fact, you both are. No TV for a week." The two boys groaned, but John noted the relief in Dean's eyes. "I don't think I need to give a lecture on sneaking around and disobeying your brother do I Sam?" The little boy shook his head so quickly that a few straggling pieces of hair fell onto the threadbare sofa. "Good, because when he and I tell you not to do something it's for your own good. And Dean," John added, "I don't think I need to explain to you why it is so important to keep an eye on your little brother, do I?"
"No sir!" Dean said quickly.
"Good." John looked at them, "At ease Dean, no one is getting yelled at tonight." Dean's body relaxed and John knew that he didn't have to tell Dean that he very well deserved to be chewed out.
"Come on Sammy, I'll fix your hair for you."
"I'll do it," John said, "You go finish your sums, you have all night to get them done since you don't have to worry about watching your monster movies."
"I want Dean to do it." Sammy complained, obviously forgetting that he had been on thin ice only moments before. John smiled and messed what remained of Sam's hair affectionately.
"Who cut Dean's hair that way?" John asked as he sat on the couch next to Sam.
Sam pondered the question posed by his father for a few moments. "You did!" Sammy smiled, and climbed into his daddy's lap. "Can you still make it look like Dean's?"
John made a show of inspecting his son's hair, clicking his tongue, and mumbling about length. Dean almost laughed as he watched his Dad bait little Sammy, who was sitting completely still with a look of serious concern as his dad took in the condition of his hair. Finally when Sammy looked like he was on the brink of tears again John smiled down and Sammy said "Of course I can."
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Sammy smiled as he sat across from Dean while his dad slowly snipped away at his hair with the same scissors he had used.  He watched Dean do his homework and wondered when he would be old enough to do the same kind of homework. Dean's forehead wrinkled in frustration and Sammy decided that maybe there wasn't any rush to be a grown up. Cutting his own hair was hard, and Dean's homework looked hard too, but even so, when John finished Sam's hair he couldn't help but be excited by just how much it looked like Dean's.