Title: Getting Older
Author: Black_Wingedbird
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Author's Notes: Inspired by Amy's fic challenge, 'One morning Dean looked in the mirror and found a gray hair.'
Dean stepped out of the shower, creating a shallow puddle on the hotel's slick white tile floor. He snatched a towel from the rack and shook it open, then tied it around his waist. The steam was thick and congesting despite the weak ceiling fan that hummed overhead. Dean moved to the door and pushed it open slightly, allowing the warm steam to escape while still providing privacy from certain geeky little brothers.
As cool air began seeping in, Dean stepped to the counter and pressed his hand flat against the cool mirror. The muscles in his arm bunched as he wiped away the steam, leaving streaked trails of water droplets in his wake. He smiled at himself. Damn, he looked sexy, even distorted by a dripping hotel mirror.
He heard Sam moving around the room and refocused his attention on finishing. Dean grabbed the shaving cream and upended the can, squirting a foamy white glob onto his palm.
"Dean?"
Dean sighed, glaring at the door's reflection. "Go away. I'll be out in a sec." He spread the shaving cream over his jaw and grabbed the green plastic razor.
Sam heaved a sigh through the five-inch opening. "Hurry up. I have to piss."
Dean bent over the counter, studying the contours of his face as he started shaving. "I'm sure that nice little old lady next door will gladly let you use her bathroom…" He rinsed the razor under the faucet and continued.
Sam snorted and moved away from the door, mumbling something about vanity and sins.
Dean paused long enough to shake his head, then resumed shaving. When he was done, he grabbed a hand towel and wiped away the excess shaving cream. There. Done. He slapped on some aftershave and because he was an awesome big brother, grabbed his toothbrush and wet it, intent on brushing his teeth in the room while Sam relieved himself.
He was setting down the crinkled tube of toothpaste when he saw it. Dean froze, his fingers numb, and raised a hand to his head.
"What the fuck… Sam! Get in here!" It was a joke- it had to be. A cruel, *so*-not-funny joke. Sam was a dead man.
Slowly, the door opened. Sam stood in the doorway, looking apprehensive. "What?"
Dean jabbed a finger at his hairline. "What is *this*?"
Sam cocked his head slightly, raising one eyebrow. "That's what I've been asking myself for years."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Funny man, funny man. Too funny for your own good, aren't you? What'd you use, a permanent marker? One of your little crayons?"
Sam's face scrunched in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"This!" Dean shouted, leaning forward so that his head was right underneath Sam's nose. "Look!"
Sam was silent and the only sound was that of Dean's heavy breathing. Then, the unmistakable sound of suppressed laughter.
Dean pulled away and glared. "Yeah, regular Jeff Foxworthy, aren't ya? Asswipe. Shut up and tell me what you used so I can get it off."
"Dean, I didn't put anything in your hair."
"Like hell you didn't!"
"It wasn't me!" Sam said, his voice raising. "Have you ever stopped to consider the fact that it is, indeed, a gray hair?"
"NO!"
Dean paused, taking a breath to collect himself. Then, in a calmer manner, he continued, "There's no way it's a fucking gray hair. I'm 28. I won't get gray hairs for another 20 years."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Dad got gray hair when he was 30."
"No, Sam- it's not…" Dean faltered, shocked by the news and the entire situation. "It can't be… I'm… I…"
Sam stepped forward, joining Dean at the sink. They stood side by side, staring at the offending, solitary gray hair.
"How do you know, anyway?" Dean pouted, defeated.
"I caught him coloring it one night," Sam replied. "He told me."
Dean felt sick. "I'm *way* too young to be dying my hair."
"Dean," Sam started softly, offering a genuine smile. "It's just one hair. Pull it out."
"What, so I can have two more grow back- are you nuts?" Dean said, covering the hair with his hand. "Back off. You can't pull it out either."
"That's just an old wives tale," Sam defended, staying his ground. "You will not get two more if you pull it out."
"And how do you know?" Dean shot back. "Are you the Gray Hair Fairy? The private consultant for Just For Men?" He pointed to the door. "Just go. Leave me to grow old and decrepit in peace."
Sam didn't move. "Dean-"
"I'm getting weak Sammy. Leave an old man to brush his teeth in privacy. After you're dressed, we're going to write up my will." He grabbed the toothpaste.
"Can I have your car?"
"OUT!"
Sam stumbled back as Dean pushed him. "Fine, but hurry it up, grandpa. I still have to piss."
Dean slammed the door on Sam's laughter and took a deep breath, then turned to face himself in the mirror again. He scowled. One way or another, Sam was responsible for the gray hair. All the worrying, all the rescuing, it had all taken its toll, plain and simple. Dean would fight for his brother, die for him, but the line was drawn at gray hair. No way. Never.
A predatory grin curved Dean's face as he looked at himself in the mirror.
Payback was definitely a bitch.
END