“Take these three pieces and cross the leftmost one over this piece...yes, like that...now take this piece and bring it back to the left...yes!”
Sam smiles to himself as he successfully creates a loose plait in the three strips of leather you tied together. You stand over his shoulder, giving him directions as he braids them together. With Dean gone on a hunt for proper groceries, you needed to do something, and that turned out to be teaching sam how to braid. The Winchester brothers can apparently tie every knot in a survival booklet, but they are clueless with three thin pieces in their calloused hands.
“Pull them tighter together so the leather will not fray as easily. It keeps the plait as one unit.” Sam gently pulls, and your wings flutter when the entire braid tightens. “Good!”
The tips of his ears flush with your praise, and he laughs, glancing over his shoulder at you. “Thanks, (Y/n). This isn’t the only kind of braid, is it?”
You shake your head and pull out the black metal chair beside him to sit down, shaking your hair out from the ponytail and quickly separating a couple different pieces. “No, there are many different techniques that result in beautiful braids. This one-“ You quickly pull thin strands from the back of your handful of hair to the front, over and over, creating a sort of layered braid. “-Is more complex, but pretty. I do believe modern society calls it fishtail braids?”
Sam watches your fingers, transfixed. You quickly finish the braid and tie it off, pulling some strands out to create volume. You smile softly, showing it off. “There are more, if you would like?”
Your smile grows at Sam’s immediate nod.
“Sammy, Angel, I got- woah, lookin’ good, Sam.” Dean sends a wide grin towards you and Sam as he walks in the door and sets the groceries down.
“Of course, Dean! I think he looks quite cute already. I’ve not even completed this French braid yet.” Kneeling behind Sam - who’s sitting on a stool on the floor because he was still too tall- on one of the beds, you’re fingers work deftly in his chestnut hair as you pull strands from the side of his head to fit in the second braid. You giggle as Dean whips out his phone for a picture, and Sam raises his hand to flip him off.
“Almost got it...” You frown in concentration as you reach the back of Sam’s head, reaching for one of your bobby pins. You grunt when you can’t find any, and look desperately to Dean, who is still stifling his laughter.
“Dean!” You whine, “Can you find my container of bobby pins? I just need two and Sam’s hair will be finished! I made him wash his hair especially for this, don’t let it go to waste!” At this, Dean roars with laughter and even Sam is chuckling. You don’t find it funny, not even as your earring and heart seem to burn at the sight of the Winchester’s smiling. “Dean!”
The older Winchester grins at you, and winks as he heads into the bathroom to find your bobby pins. “Don’t worry, Angel, I got you.”
As soon as Dean walks into the bathroom, he can’t stop the grin that splits his face. He had walked into the motel room expecting Sam on his computer and hunting for cases and you watching cheap TV and questioning every bad pun.
Instead, he got you and his little brother bonding. He got Sam smiling without the worry of something lurking around the corner, and trusting you enough to play around with his hair. He got you, serious over a playful matter and teaching his baby brother something that he doesn’t need to survive, but just to teach him.
Dean chuckles to himself, but as you cry his name again, he snaps out of his daze and actually searches for the goddamn bobby pins.