Ink
Dean Winchester sat in the chair of some tattoo shop in Seaside Heights, New Jersey. It was the beginning of May, but hardly anyone was in the little beach town. They were all still at work or in school.
Dean and Sam were passing through on their way to find a new hunt. Dean had made Sam stop here. He was surprised that Sam hadn't tried to talk him out of a tattoo. Then again, maybe he understood on some level. This was what he needed.
He watched her die. He watched as hell hounds attacked her; invisible paws clawing at her, tearing her porcelain skin, and leaving blood gushing out everywhere. He couldn't do a damn thing. He just held her in his arms, feeling the hot blood against his hands as he tried to tell her that he was sorry.
He didn't mean for anything to happen between them. He'd met her when they were kids. Pastor Caleb introduced them...or was it Pastor Jim? It didn't really matter. She knew Sam, but not the same way she knew Dean. She and Dean were the same age, so she would always tend to cling more to him. She was his only friend growing up besides Sam. She kept him sane when Sam went to school. He kept her sane when her mother was brutally killed by a demon.
They'd dated for a brief period of time while Sam was at Stanford. The break-up wasn't shocking. They were going in opposite directions. They lost touch after they broke up.
They met up again in Denver a little less than a year ago. They kept running into each other on hunts. Sometimes it was on purpose. They generally enjoyed each others company, and the occasional after hunt sex. But it went the way these things always go. Feelings developed and suddenly Dean Winchester was in love with a girl.
Trista Samuels. She was raised a hunter. She was the eighth generation of hunters in the family. Her mother, Diana, was the first female hunter Dean had ever met. Diana would never cut Dean any slack. She forced him to do his homework, learn how to do laundry, and cook for Sam. Trista turned out to be so much like her it scared Dean. She never cut Dean any slack for anything. And Dean liked the challenge. She was smart and never backed down. She would tie her auburn hair back in a ponytail and happily beat Dean's ass in pool. Trista wasn't like one of his regular bar girls...and that turned out to be the problem.
In March he finally told Trista about the deal. She looked like she was going to kill him. Then she looked like she was going to break down. Finally she walked out the door without a word. He truly thought that she wouldn't come back. Dean didn't know what to say to her when she walked back into the motel room hours later.
"Are you okay?" Dean asked.
"No, but you are." Trista kissed him.
He knew she sold her soul. The only better offer than a Winchester's soul would be a Samuels. She told him that she wasn't getting a year. Her expiration date was what his was going to be. They were screaming at each other. How could the other be so stupid? Didn't they know they were going to hell? It ended up not mattering. What was done, was done. That was it. They had angry sex against the wall, and then they'd had make-up sex in the shower.
She made a list of things she wanted to do. Dean happily helped with anything he could. They went to the Grand Canyon, number 3 on her list. He helped Trista pick out a Mustang to buy with a fake credit card, number 7 on her list. He'd gone with her to get a tattoo. It was number 1 on her list. She was always afraid that in ten years, she'd hate any tattoo she got. She didn't have to worry about that anymore. She got Dean's name tattooed on her hip. Dean held Trista's hand the whole time. He always found himself lightly tracing the tattoo when they were in bed together. She was his. He finally had something more than a leather jacket and a car that he could call his own.
Dean held her in his arms for hours after the hell hounds left. He watched the light in her bright green eyes dim to nothing. He just held her, ignoring the sticky blood on his hands, breathing in the scent of her long hair. He wanted to memorize everything about her: her scent, her tattoo, her freckles.
It had been three weeks since then. They'd given her a hunter's funeral. Sam and Dean were trying to research ways to get people out of hell. They weren't having much luck at all.
Today Dean decided to take a break from researching. He sat in the tattoo chair wondering how on earth some people have their whole bodies covered in tats. The outline hurt like a mother fucker, and he bled a bit. The shading stung, but not as much as the outline.
"You're done." the burly man who had been doing Dean's tattoo told him, "Pay up front."
"Looks good." Sam commented.
"Yeah, it's perfect." Dean said.
"Did it hurt?"
"About as much as rocksalt."
"Was it worth it?"
"Yeah." He went through a few moments of pain for her. He knew that it was nothing compared to the eternity of pain she was going through for him. "It was definitely worth it."
Sam stood there looking at the tattoo. It made him think of getting Jessica's name tattooed on him. He knew he wouldn't. He had his closure when Dean killed Yellow Eyes or Azazel or whoever he was. This was closure for Dean. Or maybe it was holding onto something that wasn't there anymore. Either way, it was something Dean needed to do, and Sam wasn't about to stand in the way.
Dean stared at the tattoo for hours. He'd trace the tattoo whenever he missed her. He'd never tell Sammy that having the tattoo made him feel like Trista was apart of him. As if a piece of her wasn't in hell, but there with him. The initials TS were inked into his left wrist in black ink forever.
A/N: Short little ficlet that I came up with a couple nights ago. Tell me what you think. (Btw, if you're reading my other story, Anything But Normal, I promise that the next chapter will be up in a few days.)