Fic: A Sensitive Secret [2/2]
Back to Part One
Sam read over the list Dean handed him. Most of it was the usual stuff for people in a hospital. Clothes, car magazines, non-hospital food, toothbrush. Other items were typically Dean: the knife he kept under his pillow and dirty magazines. Sam definitely wouldn’t be bringing either of those. It was the last three items on his list that had Sam considering requesting a psych consultation.
“You want leave-in conditioner, shiner, and… what the hell is pomade?” Sam asked incredulously.
Dean glared at him from the hospital bed. “What, you think awesome hair just happens? Oh, that’s right. You wouldn’t know anything about awesome hair.”
Actually, Sam kind of had thought that. Not exactly that Dean’s hair was naturally like that, but he’d always figured Dean just kind of put some gel on his hands and rubbed his head.
“Stop smirking,” Dean growled at him. For a moment Sam was stupidly afraid he’d hurt Dean’s feelings. Then Dean grinned at him, and he remembered Dean’s bounce-back time from hurt feelings was about a second and a half. “Hurry back, Sammy. Gotta look my best for the ladies.” Dean’s attention was already distracted by the hot nurse in the purple scrubs.
Sam paused. He’d figured Dean wouldn’t care, but now that he thought about it, few things were starting to make sense. Who would have known his macho older brother was secretly a massive girl about his hair? “Dude, you’ve got a head wound.”
“Chicks dig stitches. It lets them know I’m not afraid of a bit of rough and tumble.” Dean grinned lecherously. Sam chose not to analyse that statement too deeply.
“There’s no point in me bringing you any of that hair stuff, Dean. They had to shave it to clean the cut out.”
Dean gingerly reached his right hand up, running it through the soft spikes above his head. He let out a sigh of relief that Sam was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to see. “Not funny, dude. My hair’s fine.”
“Other side.”
For a second Sam thought his brother was going to cry. But only for a second, before Dean’s grin was firmly back in place. “I can make it work,” he said, “Now do my bidding, slave-boy.”
Sam raised his eyebrows, smirking. “Sure you’re okay there, Dean? Not gonna cry into your pillow? It’s okay, unexpected hair loss can be very traumatic.”
“Shut up,” Dean glared at him, “Bring me my stuff. The amount of hair doesn’t matter; it’s all in how you style it. You wait, I’ll be fighting the ladies off with a stick.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “Actually, I probably won’t bother fighting them off.”
***
Driving back to the motel to retrieve Dean’s spare clothes and assorted hair products, Sam’s change dropped out of his pocket and rolled under the seat of the Impala. He groped under the seat with an arm and felt something strange. A piece of paper was tucked into the lining of the underside of the seat. Weird. It was almost like it had been hidden there.
When he pulled it out, he discovered it was a twenty-percent off discount card for a hair salon in Seattle. He laughed. He’d learnt enough about his brother’s weirdly obsessive relationship with his hair today to mock Dean with for years.
But why had Dean felt the need to hide the discount card? Come to think of it, why had he chosen to let Sam think he spent an half an hour ‘cleaning the pipes’ in the bathroom every morning rather than just doing his hair in front of Sam? Surely if he was that embarrassed about doing something as non-macho as styling his hair, he just wouldn’t do it.
***
Sam dug deep through Dean's duffel, his fingers finally brushed across a small compartment buried at the bottom. He should have figured his brother would keep this stuff well hidden. The thought only made him sadder. Dean shouldn't feel the need to keep these things a secret as if it were something shameful. Sam paused staring down at the tub of pomade in his palm. If he was going to understand this side of his brother and help Dean become less embarrassed by all this, he'd first need to understand it better himself. Sam knew there was no use in asking Dean directly. So he decided to look up the website written on the hair salon’s discount card and discovered that Dean was spending $200 a haircut.
He looked up the pomade. $79.99 a bottle.
The website read: "Our all-natural styling pomade is specially formulated for even the most sensitive of skin. Infused with citrus and sunflower oils, Envi Men's pomade helps texturize hair while reducing build-up and irritation."
"Add shine and moisture to your hair using our patented allergen-free formula instilled with a blend of essential oils including lavender and vanilla. Safe even on sensitive skin."
Sensitive? Dean and sensitive? Now there were two words Sam never expected to use in the same sentence. This was a guy that Sam's seen use bar rags to stop his own gushing blood.
No wonder Dean had been keeping it a secret. Dad would not approve of Dean spending all that money on something that wasn’t what Dad considered a necessity. And Dean would definitely not be willing to admit that he was buying the good stuff because he had sensitive skin. Anyone who dared say the word ‘sensitive’ about Dean within Dean’s earshot would live to would suffer sudden and lasting pain. It was ridiculous, but Dean probably saw it as a weakness he had to hide from others.
Not for the first time, Sam wished his Dad were there so he could yell at him; scream at him for stamping obedience into Dean until Dean felt the need to hide the evidence of his tiny rebellion.
Sam decided right then not to laugh at Dean for it anymore. If having good hair made Dean feel good about himself, then let him style it.
***
Sam hurried back to the hospital with Dean's requested items in tow. He hoped Dean wouldn't think anything was up. He figured his brother would be tense upon his return after their discussion of his hair products. He'd bet his laptop that Dean would be expecting some kind of razzing from him about it. But Sam's plan was to simply gloss right over it.
Sam was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the nurse in Dean's room until he was almost inside. Thankfully Dean didn't spot him. Sam pulled back and watched through the small window in the door. He was surprised to find that it was no longer the hot nurse in the purple scrubs.
Instead, Dean was having what seemed like a pleasant conversation with a motherly looking nurse. She wrote a few things down in Dean's chart as they chatted. Dean pulled a face at the next thing she said but Sam couldn't read her lips. The nurse approached Dean and started to examine the wound on the side of his head. Sam could see the large purple goose egg all the way from the door. Then the nurse said something and Dean steeled himself. It didn't seem to work though as Dean let out a loud hiss while the nurse prodded the bruising as gently as she could. She murmured apologies and ran her hand over Dean's hair on the uninjured side of his head. Sam was sure Dean would bitch her out for it. But what he did next was truly shocking. Dean's eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into her touch suddenly looking years younger. When she pulled away, Dean's eyes snapped open and he unconsciously followed her hand like a moth to a flame. Sam could feel his heartstrings being tugged painfully. No, he would never tease his brother about this again. Sam couldn't give his brother much, but he could give him this. Dean deserved at least that much.
So when the nurse finished up, Sam made his presence known. Knocking on the door, he strode in. "Hey, man. I got all your stuff." And just as he predicted, Dean tensed up as he unpacked his toiletries. As planned, Sam made light of it. "Sorry it took me a while. Had to dig some of the bottles out of that pocket in your duffle. Hope I got the right stuff." He said sincerely, ever the dutiful little brother. "Oh! I got us some food too. Figured you'd wanna avoid hospital food at all costs."
"You figured right." Dean nodded seriously. Even since that experience with lime Jell-O in Nevada, Dean wasn't going to touch another hospital meal if he could help it.
Sam pulled out another bag. "Got you a roast beef sandwich and..." He unpacked a triangular plastic container.
"Dude, if that's cake again..." Dean warned.
Sam snorted. "It ain't cake. Promise."
And just like that Dean's eyes lit up. He snatched the container right from Sam's hand and dug into the pie with gusto. Sam really wanted to chastise him for eating his dessert before his dinner, but something told him to just let it go. All of the earlier tension had dissipated from the room. Sam sat back in the hard plastic chair, put his feet up on Dean's bed, and enjoyed his grilled chicken salad while watching an episode of Dirty Jobs with his brother.
Yeah, Sam could give him this.
Sam read over the list Dean handed him. Most of it was the usual stuff for people in a hospital. Clothes, car magazines, non-hospital food, toothbrush. Other items were typically Dean: the knife he kept under his pillow and dirty magazines. Sam definitely wouldn’t be bringing either of those. It was the last three items on his list that had Sam considering requesting a psych consultation.
“You want leave-in conditioner, shiner, and… what the hell is pomade?” Sam asked incredulously.
Dean glared at him from the hospital bed. “What, you think awesome hair just happens? Oh, that’s right. You wouldn’t know anything about awesome hair.”
Actually, Sam kind of had thought that. Not exactly that Dean’s hair was naturally like that, but he’d always figured Dean just kind of put some gel on his hands and rubbed his head.
“Stop smirking,” Dean growled at him. For a moment Sam was stupidly afraid he’d hurt Dean’s feelings. Then Dean grinned at him, and he remembered Dean’s bounce-back time from hurt feelings was about a second and a half. “Hurry back, Sammy. Gotta look my best for the ladies.” Dean’s attention was already distracted by the hot nurse in the purple scrubs.
Sam paused. He’d figured Dean wouldn’t care, but now that he thought about it, few things were starting to make sense. Who would have known his macho older brother was secretly a massive girl about his hair? “Dude, you’ve got a head wound.”
“Chicks dig stitches. It lets them know I’m not afraid of a bit of rough and tumble.” Dean grinned lecherously. Sam chose not to analyse that statement too deeply.
“There’s no point in me bringing you any of that hair stuff, Dean. They had to shave it to clean the cut out.”
Dean gingerly reached his right hand up, running it through the soft spikes above his head. He let out a sigh of relief that Sam was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to see. “Not funny, dude. My hair’s fine.”
“Other side.”
For a second Sam thought his brother was going to cry. But only for a second, before Dean’s grin was firmly back in place. “I can make it work,” he said, “Now do my bidding, slave-boy.”
Sam raised his eyebrows, smirking. “Sure you’re okay there, Dean? Not gonna cry into your pillow? It’s okay, unexpected hair loss can be very traumatic.”
“Shut up,” Dean glared at him, “Bring me my stuff. The amount of hair doesn’t matter; it’s all in how you style it. You wait, I’ll be fighting the ladies off with a stick.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “Actually, I probably won’t bother fighting them off.”
***
Driving back to the motel to retrieve Dean’s spare clothes and assorted hair products, Sam’s change dropped out of his pocket and rolled under the seat of the Impala. He groped under the seat with an arm and felt something strange. A piece of paper was tucked into the lining of the underside of the seat. Weird. It was almost like it had been hidden there.
When he pulled it out, he discovered it was a twenty-percent off discount card for a hair salon in Seattle. He laughed. He’d learnt enough about his brother’s weirdly obsessive relationship with his hair today to mock Dean with for years.
But why had Dean felt the need to hide the discount card? Come to think of it, why had he chosen to let Sam think he spent an half an hour ‘cleaning the pipes’ in the bathroom every morning rather than just doing his hair in front of Sam? Surely if he was that embarrassed about doing something as non-macho as styling his hair, he just wouldn’t do it.
***
Sam dug deep through Dean's duffel, his fingers finally brushed across a small compartment buried at the bottom. He should have figured his brother would keep this stuff well hidden. The thought only made him sadder. Dean shouldn't feel the need to keep these things a secret as if it were something shameful. Sam paused staring down at the tub of pomade in his palm. If he was going to understand this side of his brother and help Dean become less embarrassed by all this, he'd first need to understand it better himself. Sam knew there was no use in asking Dean directly. So he decided to look up the website written on the hair salon’s discount card and discovered that Dean was spending $200 a haircut.
He looked up the pomade. $79.99 a bottle.
The website read: "Our all-natural styling pomade is specially formulated for even the most sensitive of skin. Infused with citrus and sunflower oils, Envi Men's pomade helps texturize hair while reducing build-up and irritation."
"Add shine and moisture to your hair using our patented allergen-free formula instilled with a blend of essential oils including lavender and vanilla. Safe even on sensitive skin."
Sensitive? Dean and sensitive? Now there were two words Sam never expected to use in the same sentence. This was a guy that Sam's seen use bar rags to stop his own gushing blood.
No wonder Dean had been keeping it a secret. Dad would not approve of Dean spending all that money on something that wasn’t what Dad considered a necessity. And Dean would definitely not be willing to admit that he was buying the good stuff because he had sensitive skin. Anyone who dared say the word ‘sensitive’ about Dean within Dean’s earshot would live to would suffer sudden and lasting pain. It was ridiculous, but Dean probably saw it as a weakness he had to hide from others.
Not for the first time, Sam wished his Dad were there so he could yell at him; scream at him for stamping obedience into Dean until Dean felt the need to hide the evidence of his tiny rebellion.
Sam decided right then not to laugh at Dean for it anymore. If having good hair made Dean feel good about himself, then let him style it.
***
Sam hurried back to the hospital with Dean's requested items in tow. He hoped Dean wouldn't think anything was up. He figured his brother would be tense upon his return after their discussion of his hair products. He'd bet his laptop that Dean would be expecting some kind of razzing from him about it. But Sam's plan was to simply gloss right over it.
Sam was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the nurse in Dean's room until he was almost inside. Thankfully Dean didn't spot him. Sam pulled back and watched through the small window in the door. He was surprised to find that it was no longer the hot nurse in the purple scrubs.
Instead, Dean was having what seemed like a pleasant conversation with a motherly looking nurse. She wrote a few things down in Dean's chart as they chatted. Dean pulled a face at the next thing she said but Sam couldn't read her lips. The nurse approached Dean and started to examine the wound on the side of his head. Sam could see the large purple goose egg all the way from the door. Then the nurse said something and Dean steeled himself. It didn't seem to work though as Dean let out a loud hiss while the nurse prodded the bruising as gently as she could. She murmured apologies and ran her hand over Dean's hair on the uninjured side of his head. Sam was sure Dean would bitch her out for it. But what he did next was truly shocking. Dean's eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into her touch suddenly looking years younger. When she pulled away, Dean's eyes snapped open and he unconsciously followed her hand like a moth to a flame. Sam could feel his heartstrings being tugged painfully. No, he would never tease his brother about this again. Sam couldn't give his brother much, but he could give him this. Dean deserved at least that much.
So when the nurse finished up, Sam made his presence known. Knocking on the door, he strode in. "Hey, man. I got all your stuff." And just as he predicted, Dean tensed up as he unpacked his toiletries. As planned, Sam made light of it. "Sorry it took me a while. Had to dig some of the bottles out of that pocket in your duffle. Hope I got the right stuff." He said sincerely, ever the dutiful little brother. "Oh! I got us some food too. Figured you'd wanna avoid hospital food at all costs."
"You figured right." Dean nodded seriously. Even since that experience with lime Jell-O in Nevada, Dean wasn't going to touch another hospital meal if he could help it.
Sam pulled out another bag. "Got you a roast beef sandwich and..." He unpacked a triangular plastic container.
"Dude, if that's cake again..." Dean warned.
Sam snorted. "It ain't cake. Promise."
And just like that Dean's eyes lit up. He snatched the container right from Sam's hand and dug into the pie with gusto. Sam really wanted to chastise him for eating his dessert before his dinner, but something told him to just let it go. All of the earlier tension had dissipated from the room. Sam sat back in the hard plastic chair, put his feet up on Dean's bed, and enjoyed his grilled chicken salad while watching an episode of Dirty Jobs with his brother.
Yeah, Sam could give him this.