spn fic: "the Tattoos" (PG)
title: "The Tattoos"
author: fannishliss
rated: PG
warnings: spoilers for 5.22. Dean pov
words: 900
Author's note: this story takes place in mid-July 2010. Angel Quality of Guardianship.
disclaimer: This story follows on from the Promise verse, proceeding from the scenario set forth at the end of 5.22. Thanks to Kripke and everyone at spn for their fantastic work. Comments and concrit are sincerely appreciated.
Summary: Dean suddenly remembers a dangerous omission.
Master List for the Promise 'verse
Dean wasn’t too proud to admit it, but it took him a while at Lisa’s to get his feet under him.
When he arrived he was barely holding it together, sick with loss and soul-killing grief, desperate for the slightest solace, he didn’t even know what. Lisa had taken him in, because she was that kind of person. After several weeks of her good food, soft bed, straight talk, and warm shoulder, Dean found himself beginning to think again.
It was just the middle of summer, a lazy July Saturday swimming at the dam, Ben laughing and splashing with his friends in the shallow water, when Dean suddenly remembered something awful.
“Lisa,” Dean said, choking down a sudden rush of panic and dread.
“What? Dean, what’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet!” Lisa wrinkled her brow in concern. She was here, and real, and sitting on a picnic blanket for god’s sake. And Dean had never even thought...
“God, Lisa, I should have said something sooner.”
“Dean, god damn it, what!”
“Listen, do you know a good tattoo parlor?” Dean tried to keep his vision from swimming. He pushed down his panic response and tried to breathe. Cut the shit, boy, get it together, he barked sternly at himself, shocked that he was so far off his game.
“A tattoo parlor? What? Yeah, I know a couple. What the hell are you talking about?” Lisa said, frowning.
“See this?” Dean said, yanking at the neck of his black tee shirt.
“Nice,” Lisa said, confused.
“No, Lisa - it’s not for looks, it’s for protection. I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it till now,” Dean said, wiping his hand over his eyes.
“Protection from what?” Lisa said.
“Demons,” Dean gritted out. “I mean, I salted the house; I already said a few blessings, but you and Ben are running around naked. I mean, to demons.”
“You need a tattoo to keep away demons? What about your Angels, can’t they help?”
At this Dean felt even worse. Lowering his eyes to the ground, he said, “Angels are even worse than demons, but at least they have to hear you say yes.” Dean thought about the Enochian sigils Cas had carved into his ribs. What if one of those feathery bastards had their eyes on Ben?
“Dean, that’s horrible,” Lisa said.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s a lot,” Dean said.
“No, I mean it’s horrible all the things you have to worry about. Ben will be so psyched, he loves tattoos. And I certainly have no objection. Can we design it ourselves?”
Dean blinked at her. “How are you even real?”
“What do you mean?” Lisa laughed.
“I mean, I’m here freaking out because I’m too messed up to remember something as basic as these tattoos... and you just calmly go along with it.” Dean kicked himself. At least he’d blessed the house. What if demons had gotten to Ben? He’d been here more than a month!
“Dean,” Lisa answered, looking him in the eye. He liked how she looked at him like he mattered. “You’re trying to heal from a terrible loss, adapt to a new way of life, away from Hunting, trying not to think about it... it’s no surprise that you’d forget something that’s been a part of you for how long...”
“Almost three years,” Dean muttered.
“Only three? Not to speak ill of the dead, but if these tattoos are so vital, why didn’t your Dad have you tattooed years ago?”
Dean was aghast. There was no way John hadn’t known about the tattoo. Lisa’s question stirred up a hornet’s nest Dean couldn’t even begin to think about. After he’d sat for a minute, mind swimming around her question, Lisa spoke for him.
“Right. The important thing is to move forward from where we are now. Let’s finish swimming, get some supper, and then there’s a place down in Indianapolis that a few of my friends like, I’ll call and see if we can get an appointment. Anything special we have to tell them?”
“No... there’s some Latin that goes with it,” Dean answered.
“What about Hebrew?” Lisa asked, wry. “I’m not exactly Catholic, you know.”
“Oh. Right. Well, yeah, there are some pretty good designs in the Key of Solomon... can you read Hebrew?” Dean asked. He knew Lisa had majored in Spanish and spoke a smattering of other languages, but he hadn’t thought about Hebrew.
“Yeah, I can. My parents were pretty into my bat mitzvah,” Lisa smiled.
“Well, okay.... I keep my Dad’s journal in the trunk with the other stuff, you know... I’ll go get it and you can look at some of the designs.”
Lisa reached for his hand. “That’s an honor. Your dad must have been an amazing guy.”
Dean closed his eyes. The ache of his Dad’s loss could well up at the littlest things, but somehow, letting Lisa leaf through the journal, the symbol of John’s lifelong vendetta and all the good and bad that had come of it, seemed like the right thing to do.
“I’ve never been able, you know, to share this kind of thing, with anyone,” Dean said. “It means a lot to me that you’re good with it.”
“I am,” Lisa said. She was so beautiful, smiling at him, her dark eyes sparkling in the sunlight.
“Thanks,” Dean said soberly, and went to get the journal.
author: fannishliss
rated: PG
warnings: spoilers for 5.22. Dean pov
words: 900
Author's note: this story takes place in mid-July 2010. Angel Quality of Guardianship.
disclaimer: This story follows on from the Promise verse, proceeding from the scenario set forth at the end of 5.22. Thanks to Kripke and everyone at spn for their fantastic work. Comments and concrit are sincerely appreciated.
Summary: Dean suddenly remembers a dangerous omission.
Master List for the Promise 'verse
Dean wasn’t too proud to admit it, but it took him a while at Lisa’s to get his feet under him.
When he arrived he was barely holding it together, sick with loss and soul-killing grief, desperate for the slightest solace, he didn’t even know what. Lisa had taken him in, because she was that kind of person. After several weeks of her good food, soft bed, straight talk, and warm shoulder, Dean found himself beginning to think again.
It was just the middle of summer, a lazy July Saturday swimming at the dam, Ben laughing and splashing with his friends in the shallow water, when Dean suddenly remembered something awful.
“Lisa,” Dean said, choking down a sudden rush of panic and dread.
“What? Dean, what’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet!” Lisa wrinkled her brow in concern. She was here, and real, and sitting on a picnic blanket for god’s sake. And Dean had never even thought...
“God, Lisa, I should have said something sooner.”
“Dean, god damn it, what!”
“Listen, do you know a good tattoo parlor?” Dean tried to keep his vision from swimming. He pushed down his panic response and tried to breathe. Cut the shit, boy, get it together, he barked sternly at himself, shocked that he was so far off his game.
“A tattoo parlor? What? Yeah, I know a couple. What the hell are you talking about?” Lisa said, frowning.
“See this?” Dean said, yanking at the neck of his black tee shirt.
“Nice,” Lisa said, confused.
“No, Lisa - it’s not for looks, it’s for protection. I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it till now,” Dean said, wiping his hand over his eyes.
“Protection from what?” Lisa said.
“Demons,” Dean gritted out. “I mean, I salted the house; I already said a few blessings, but you and Ben are running around naked. I mean, to demons.”
“You need a tattoo to keep away demons? What about your Angels, can’t they help?”
At this Dean felt even worse. Lowering his eyes to the ground, he said, “Angels are even worse than demons, but at least they have to hear you say yes.” Dean thought about the Enochian sigils Cas had carved into his ribs. What if one of those feathery bastards had their eyes on Ben?
“Dean, that’s horrible,” Lisa said.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s a lot,” Dean said.
“No, I mean it’s horrible all the things you have to worry about. Ben will be so psyched, he loves tattoos. And I certainly have no objection. Can we design it ourselves?”
Dean blinked at her. “How are you even real?”
“What do you mean?” Lisa laughed.
“I mean, I’m here freaking out because I’m too messed up to remember something as basic as these tattoos... and you just calmly go along with it.” Dean kicked himself. At least he’d blessed the house. What if demons had gotten to Ben? He’d been here more than a month!
“Dean,” Lisa answered, looking him in the eye. He liked how she looked at him like he mattered. “You’re trying to heal from a terrible loss, adapt to a new way of life, away from Hunting, trying not to think about it... it’s no surprise that you’d forget something that’s been a part of you for how long...”
“Almost three years,” Dean muttered.
“Only three? Not to speak ill of the dead, but if these tattoos are so vital, why didn’t your Dad have you tattooed years ago?”
Dean was aghast. There was no way John hadn’t known about the tattoo. Lisa’s question stirred up a hornet’s nest Dean couldn’t even begin to think about. After he’d sat for a minute, mind swimming around her question, Lisa spoke for him.
“Right. The important thing is to move forward from where we are now. Let’s finish swimming, get some supper, and then there’s a place down in Indianapolis that a few of my friends like, I’ll call and see if we can get an appointment. Anything special we have to tell them?”
“No... there’s some Latin that goes with it,” Dean answered.
“What about Hebrew?” Lisa asked, wry. “I’m not exactly Catholic, you know.”
“Oh. Right. Well, yeah, there are some pretty good designs in the Key of Solomon... can you read Hebrew?” Dean asked. He knew Lisa had majored in Spanish and spoke a smattering of other languages, but he hadn’t thought about Hebrew.
“Yeah, I can. My parents were pretty into my bat mitzvah,” Lisa smiled.
“Well, okay.... I keep my Dad’s journal in the trunk with the other stuff, you know... I’ll go get it and you can look at some of the designs.”
Lisa reached for his hand. “That’s an honor. Your dad must have been an amazing guy.”
Dean closed his eyes. The ache of his Dad’s loss could well up at the littlest things, but somehow, letting Lisa leaf through the journal, the symbol of John’s lifelong vendetta and all the good and bad that had come of it, seemed like the right thing to do.
“I’ve never been able, you know, to share this kind of thing, with anyone,” Dean said. “It means a lot to me that you’re good with it.”
“I am,” Lisa said. She was so beautiful, smiling at him, her dark eyes sparkling in the sunlight.
“Thanks,” Dean said soberly, and went to get the journal.