The sun was warm but not scorching, the kind of afternoon where the breeze carried the smell of cut grass and summer flowers. Dean sat in an old wooden chair in the middle of the garden, an old sheet draped over his shoulders, and a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You sure you know what you’re doing back there?” he teased, tilting his head slightly but keeping perfectly still. “Because last I checked, you’re not exactly a licensed barber.”

You rolled your eyes, running your fingers through his hair before snipping off the ends. “Relax, Winchester. You’re the one who said you didn’t want to waste money on a hairdresser. You’re getting the deluxe package here—backyard salon, sunlight, and me. Be grateful.”

Dean chuckled, his shoulders shaking under the sheet. “Oh, I’m grateful, sweetheart. Don’t get me wrong. Just… if I end up looking like one of those guys from an 80’s boy band, I’m blaming you.”

You tapped the top of his head with the comb. “You wish you could pull that off.”

He laughed again, that low, warm rumble that made the whole afternoon feel softer somehow. As you carefully trimmed, you noticed how much trust it took for Dean, who never let anyone near him with sharp objects unless absolutely necessary, to sit here and let you fuss over him. His eyes were half closed, his head tipping back slightly, completely at ease.

“You’re enjoying this,” you said after a moment, more statement than question.

“Damn right I am,” he replied lazily. “Sun’s out, birds are chirping, and my partner is playing with my hair. Couldn’t ask for a better day.”

Your cheeks heated, but you tried to play it off with a laugh. “You’re going to make me mess up if you keep being sappy.”

Dean cracked one eye open to grin at you. “Yeah? Then maybe I’ll keep going. Might end up with a mullet, but hey- worth it.”

You swatted at him with the comb, but he caught your wrist gently, tugging you down just enough to kiss your cheek before letting you get back to work.