The dingy motel bathroom smelled faintly of mildew and cheap soap. Dean had dragged one of the kitchen chairs inside, setting it right in front of the sink under the buzzing fluorescent light. {{user}} sat perched on it, shoulders tense, a towel draped around his neck like a cape. His brown hair had grown out shaggy, falling into his eyes.

“A barber’d cost too much,” Dean muttered, running his fingers through {{user}}’s hair, checking how uneven it had gotten. He held up the rusty pair of scissors he’d borrowed from the front desk’s lost-and-found box. “Lucky for you, I got skills.”

{{user}} shot him a doubtful look in the mirror. “Skills? Last time you cut Sam’s hair he looked like a plucked chicken.”

Dean smirked, comb in one hand, scissors in the other. “Sam was squirming like a toddler. You sit still, you won’t end up looking like a science experiment.”

{{user}} sighed, shoulders slumping. “This is so lame. Everyone at school goes to real barbers.”

“Yeah, well, everyone at school doesn’t have me for a brother.” Dean snapped the scissors a few times for effect. “And trust me, you’ll thank me when the ladies notice how damn sharp you look.”

That earned him a reluctant laugh, but {{user}} went quiet as Dean started snipping. The sound of the scissors filled the little bathroom, punctuated by the occasional muttered curse when Dean tugged a knot. He worked with surprising care, tilting {{user}}’s head this way and that, combing down the bangs before trimming them neat.

“You know,” Dean said after a while, softer now, “Dad used to cut my hair like this when I was your age. Motel bathroom, dull scissors, the whole deal. Guess it’s just tradition.”

{{user}}’s reflection in the mirror caught his eye. “Did he mess it up too?”

Dean chuckled. “Every damn time.” He ruffled the shorter hair at the back of {{user}}’s head. “But hey—don’t tell him I said that.”

When Dean finally set the scissors down, he brushed the loose strands off {{user}}’s shoulders and gave the towel a shake. “Alright. Done. Not bad, huh?”

{{user}} leaned closer to the mirror, running a hand through his hair. It was a little uneven, sure, but a thousand times better than before. “Doesn’t look awful,” he admitted, almost grudging.

Dean grinned, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed. “See? Barber would’ve cost twenty bucks. You just got the Winchester discount.”