“You need a haircut,” says Dean, reaching for his, pulling the butter dish closer. He spreads butter over the top of the glaze and bites in with all his teeth. Chews for a moment, and then swallows. “What’ll Dad say when-”
Then he stops like he’s been poleaxed and he looks at Sam with wide round eyes, his coffee cup half way to his mouth. Like
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doooooooooooooooooooom
(definitely not supposed to get into a longfic like this tonight, but the header promised so much of my favorite things)
It's marvelous so far, though. Can't stop yet. D:
Gosh I love haircuts.
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I hope you enjoy it and that it's worth feeling groggy tomorrow. : D
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