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Chapter 42: Inked

Dean stood up and crossed his arms. "That was a rare case. Most clowns that you encounter are completely harmless."

Sam looked like he was getting defensive. You stayed silent, enjoying watching the brothers have a meaningless argument. "Yeah, well you're afraid of flying."

Dean, who was also defensive at the mention of his own fear, point a stern finger at Sam. "Planes crash."

"And clowns kill," Sam responded.

"Okay, guys," you chimed, deciding that they had enough torture for the day. "It's no big deal, let's just go get this thing done," you said, sounding braver than you felt.

"Are you sure," Sam asked. "You did just go through a lot. Some rest might be better."

You shook your head. If there was any way to avoid putting yourself through the torment of not being able to control your body, then you wanted to do it as soon as possible. You didn't want to allow the chance of ever being possessed again. The why that demon had hurt you and the way she had tried to harm the boys...you didn't ever want to have to sit inside your own body, lacking the control to stop the horrible things your body was doing.

"Let's get this done."

Dean shrugged and walked to the door. He turned to look behind him. "Well, you guys coming or what?"

You shot up and fumbled with zipper of your bag. "I didn't think you would be so easy to convince."

Sam kept silent as he gathered the rest of his and Dean's belongings. You knew he wanted you to relax and process what you had been through, but processing was the last thing you wanted. It was sweet of Sam to care so much, but Dean understood. He knew facing what happened head on wasn't what would work for you. You suppressed things, and you planned to keep it that way.

"I think I saw a tattoo parlor somewhere near that restaurant we went to," you mentioned as Dean's car roared to life.

+++

"Is this some sort of cult thing?" the tattoo artist asked as he looked at the picture and readied his tools. His face had more piercings than you cared to count. He wasn't as plastered in tattoos as you expected him to be.

"Family thing," Sam answered with a tight smile.

You stood nervously with your arms crossed. You couldn't believe you were about to do this to yourself. Maybe Sam was right. Perhaps resting would have been a better plan...

"So, where do you want it?" he asked, sitting on his stool and looking up at you.

"Um..." You wracked your brain for a place that would be hidden and not look stupid. "Can you do a small one on my ankle?"

He patted the covered chair that you were supposed to sit in. Warily you walked over to it and sat down. Dean followed and stayed close to you, as if he was somehow going to be able to protect you. He was pointing to a few places on your ankle, asking just where you wanted it. You had no idea what would be best. Most people thought hard about a tattoo before they got. Or they at least had a plan and want for it. Yours though...yours was a spur of the moment out of necessity. You didn't know what would be or look best.

"Why don't you just choose what you think will look good and surprise me."

"You're not picky. She's a keeper," he said in Dean's direction.

Sam smirked and stifled a snort while Dean stammered. "Oh we're not—we're just—"

"Friends with benefits?" the artist asked while slapping on his latex gloves. "I'm going to assume you aren't allergic to latex, then?" He winked at you and you weren't sure how to respond.