Dean Winchester Haircut Novels & Stories

Then a handful of men, Dean's men, stepped inside. "Take him away, and give him the whipping of his life," he commanded. The men were busy whispering in a low tone, and then one of his men came closer with shaky hands. Although Wiley was a cruel man, Dean was know as the butcher, and sometimes the right hand of Wiley. He is the one the executes Wiley's evil deads. Dean stretched his hands out with his eyes shut. They cuffed him, and he followed them. He was almost out of the room when he paused and turned to Wiley.

I went behind Ardyn, using my larger hands to gather the longer parts of his stupidly messy hair as I tried to tie it up. Ardyn had a wolf cut hairstyle going on, and while I wasn't a fan, he looked adorable and like a baby model at the same time with it so I wasn't one to complain. The back of it was comfortably covering half his nape now, and the front and middle part were well passed his eyes. His hair was really full too, so he usually just left most of it sticking at any way with a clear parting so he could see without having hair in his face.

"To be able to patch it properly. You can't patch a cut with all the hair, and stitching isn't an option." He scoffed. "You just want to piss me off. You know how I feel about my hair." She paused and looked at him. His white hair was always slicked back, perfect, not a strand out of place. She'd never seen it messy, well, except today, but not even that night. He took care of it, the way some rich men took care of their expensive cars or rare watches. She rolled her eyes and resumed cleaning. Taking a second to pressed the wound again, on purpose this time.

There was no point. I slept soundly that night. No dreams, no tears. The next morning, I was awake before dawn. At 8 a.m. sharp, I knocked on the Dean's office door. The Dean was an Alpha in his fifties, highly respected, with a high standing among the wolf packs. He flinched when he saw me. My new haircut must have shocked him. "Elena. What brings you to me so early?" "Dean, I'd like to withdraw from the academy." I stood and handed him the withdrawal form I’d filled out last night.

“She says hi.” Knives promised to pass on the message, before picking up his leather jacket, and then---! He looked at the TV, paused, and frowned at Cracker. “Is Dean Winchester cool?” he asked, sounding a tad confused. “Yeah, the coolest,” she instantly replied, before she narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. “Why?” “No reason,” he replied with a rather smug expression and kissed me one last time before leaving. He left the club and didn’t come back until the next day. I knew that they planned to hit Viper where it hurt, and whatever they were planning, it was going to be huge.

She tied her hair halfway, then decorated her hair with a flower-shaped clip, not forgetting to curl the ends of her hair. A knock on her bedroom door stopped her activities. She opened the door and found Dean standing in front of her. "I'm like that, aren't I, Sis?" She asked in response to Clarita's words. "Come on." Dean entered Clarita's room, sat in his brother's dressing chair, and faced the mirror directly. Clarita did the same thing on Dean's face; she applied skin care first, then rubbed on her make-up. Clarita styled Dean's hair by braiding the front of the woman's hair, then curling the rest of her hair and doing the same with her hair.

Dean’s appearance had brought every thought and fear rushing back like a hurricane. I took a deep breath, washed my face with cold water, and regained control of my emotions. Viktor wouldn’t affect me. I had to focus on our plan and be ready for anything. After a long bath, I noticed the dye in my hair was already fading—several silver strands were becoming visible again. “Damn… I should have gone with the wig. This is way too much work.” I slipped on the robe and, when I opened the bathroom door, nearly crashed into Dean’s chest.

’ Your hair- ‘Better still be long and flowing, I’m not compromising on that. But we had this whole thing where Khanzadas get a haircut after every victory. And since you won your fight on the rooftop, you deserve a haircut, which symbolizes you letting go of the shackles of your past. ‘Firstly, I won the dodge session in the prologue, so that’s when you should have introduced the haircut idea. It’s too late to introduce it now. Secondly, do you realize how much effort it takes to maintain such long and luscious locks?’

' Wilson asked in his mind but what ce out of his mouth was; "Morning, sirs!" "At ease, Lieutenant!" Said the muscular middle-aged man. He had a balding head with little gray hair amidst the black. His haircut, like every other soldier he had met, was a crew cut. 'That must be the standard hairstyle that Jim talked about.' Wilson thought, once again, feeling grateful to Jim for the important lessons he gave. Without those lessons, he would have been excessively clueless. 'Wait a minute!' He suddenly thought. 'Does that mean Old Rogers is a soldier?'

As I should've expected, I was given trouble right from the start. A guy with dark hair stood just a few feet away from me, snickering to one of his friends who laughed in return. His green eyes met my own, a sly sneer on his face. I recognized that sneer, the owner had torn my Dad's book to shreds. Dean Marsh had changed. His hair had once been brown and curly, but was now black and fairly straight. The black strands nearly reached his shoulders. If he noticed Atlas and Duke's presence in the room, he seemed not to care.