You look up at the neon sign flashing "TATTOO" in glowing red, feeling that knot in your stomach twisting even tighter. A hand touches your shoulder, and you jump as you turn to see Sam has come up behind you.
"Y/N?" he asks apprehensively. "Are you okay?"
You don't quite trust your voice yet, so you merely nod your head.
Sam's brow furrows. "You sure? Cause you look like Dean when we forced him on that plane a few months back."
You laugh shakily. Dean hadn't stopped cursing the whole trip and almost hurled on you as the plane hit some turbulence. Do you really look that bad? You swallow around the lump in your throat and look up at Sam.
"I might be…a little nervous." Sam raises an eyebrow in disbelief. "Ok, a lot nervous. I'm not so great with needles."
Sam throw his head back and laughs. "You hunt monsters for a living, but you're scared of a little needle?"
"Yes," you answer. Sam continues to chuckle, so you threaten, "So help me, I will put clowns in your room while you're asleep." As his face falls, you march into the tattoo parlor.
A bell rings as you open the door. You look around to see a girl behind the counter with an awesome sleeve flipping through a magazine. She looks up at you as you walk over. "Can I get this done?" you ask as you give her a drawing of the anti-possession symbol.
The bell over the door rings again as she examines it. "Sure," she replies. "Where would you want it?"
You feel a presence come up behind you that could only be Sam. Without looking behind at him, you point at your right hip. "Here."
The girl walks out from behind the counter and towards the back of the store, waving her hand at you to follow. You start to walk after her, but you don't hear Sam's footsteps following. You turn around and see him standing there, an unsure look on his face. "You coming?"
He gives a small smile and goes into the back room with you. When you get there, you see the girl from the front counter messing with a tattoo gun next to the chair. She merely glances up at you and Sam, then looks back at the instrument in her hand and says, "Go ahead and get in the chair and move your top out of the way. Your boyfriend can pull up one of the folding chairs on the other side if you want."
"We're not dating," you mutter as you sit down.
The girl simply rolls her eyes. "Whatever. He can still sit there if you want."
You glance over at Sam with an almost pleading look. He nods and pulls over a chair.
The girl finishes messing with the gun and turns to you. She wipes your hip with a wet cloth, "to clean the area," she explains, and traces the design onto your skin.
As she picks the gun back up, you feel the blood drain from your face and your hands start to shake. The tattoo girl looks at you and simply asks, "You ready?". You are about to suggest you just come back another day, when something warm and soft envelops your left hand. You look over to see that Sam has taken your hand in his large one, and is smiling at you encouragingly. You can do it, he mouths at you. Taking a deep breath, you turn back to the girl and nod your head.
She turns on the gun, and you jam your eyes shut, not wanting to watch as it gets closer and closer to your skin. You suddenly feel a hot pain on your hip and shout, "Son of a bitch!". You hear Sam chuckling again, and grind out through gritted teeth, "In your room, Winchester, I swear to Cas."
Sam is silent through the rest of the process, holding your hand no matter how hard you squeeze his. Once the tattoo is proclaimed finished, you open your eyes to take a look. You don't think it looks too bad, but you aren't really an expert on this sort of thing.
"Wow," Sam says as he leans over to see. "That looks…really good."
You turn to look at him. He has his eyes locked on the tattoo, making you grin. "Really?" you ask.
"Yeah," he answers, still looking at the tattoo. "It's actually kinda hot."
You feel all the blood rush quickly back to your face as Sam looks up and catches your eye. You both keep looking at each other until you hear someone clear their throat nearby.
You see the girl standing there with a bored look on her face and she tells you the money you owe her for the ink. You hand her one of your cards and she turns to head back to the register at the front. Just as she walks through the doorway, you hear her mutter:
"Not dating, my ass."
By ~ cawcawmotherfker at Tumblr